Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless ft. Blazeborne!Tango
Summary:
Blazes are obscure creatures of legend. Not much is known about them outside of oral tradition and their fortresses are well-guarded and hidden, few and far between. Their cloaks of smoke and raging rods, accompanied by rattling breath, were signs of danger and death to explorers, putting an end to many expeditions.
Their human hybrids are just as rare, yet far less elusive. They feature bright yellow hair, fiery eyes, and a crown of blaze rods floating around their heads. Like other hybrids, they were formed alongside humans when the world began. However, due to the nature of the blaze, little is still known about their habits, behaviours, and physiology.
Hence, this situation.
TWs: blood and injury
"Can I get a glass of ale?"
Tango looks up from the glass he's cleaning, wiping the inside dry with a rag and setting it down gently next to the others. He looks the young man up and down, taking in his youthful appearance with a raised eyebrow, and taps on the sign on the wall.
It is illegal to sell alcohol to persons under the age of 21.
"I'm gonna need to see your ID," he responds, putting both hands on the counter and leaning against it. His blaze rods float lazily around his head as he watches the young man falter.
The man huffs, resting both elbows on the counter and putting his head in his hands. "I'll just get a ginger ale, then."
Tango nods, spinning around and picking up the glass he'd just finished cleaning, and fills it most of the way with ice. He takes out the bottle of Canada Dry from the fridge beneath the counter and pours it around the frozen cubes, then slides the glass across the counter to the customer. The man places a few bills onto the counter and sits back in the bar stool, taking a sip of his drink. He looks dejectedly at the clinking ice cubes, swirling them around quietly.
The blazeborne stops his work, pocketing the cash and handing him back his change. He looks around the rowdy tavern – a group of men clustered around a gambling table, a small crowd of drunks on the opposite end of the counter, and a mob of enthusiastic cock fighters clustered around the space they cleared (cock fighting is illegal, but he can't tell that to a group of aggressive, proud owners of steel-toed roosters) – and refocuses on the youth in front of him.
"What brings you in tonight?" he asks casually, leaning against the counter. "Young people like you don't usually come in without some sort of fake ID or bigging themselves up."
The customer looks away and takes another sip of his drink. "Don't wanna talk about it."
Tango shrugs, his rods circling slightly faster. "Suit yourself. I'll be here if you want anything else." The man grunts and says nothing else. His blaze rods spinning even quicker, Tango turns towards an approaching group of regulars, grabbing glasses and fulfilling their orders with barely a second thought.
Tango doesn't see the young man slip out, distracted by his coworker balancing several trays of food. However, once he realises that he's gone, he can't help but pray to whatever gods are out there that he will make it home safe. This isn't the safe side of town.
It's easily two or two-thirty in the morning when the tavern finally closes. Tango sluggishly waves goodbye to his coworker, then spins on his heel and begins the trek back to his space in one of the tenements, hands stuffed in the pockets of his long leather jacket. He shivers slightly, blaze rods glowing fiercely against the chilliest hours of the morning. Street lamps illuminate his path on the cracked sidewalk, glinting off the puddles left behind by the afternoon's rainstorm.
One of the lamps is out, creating a pocket of darkness in the otherwise well-lit street. Tango glances around worriedly, peering into the sparse alleyways branching off behind various storefronts. He's roughly halfway home at this point, so he strides over to the post and wraps his hands around it, bracing his boots on the metal and beginning to shimmy to the top.
He opens the glass on the side of the lamp post, exposing the wick of the burnt-out lamp. He breathes a small, bright flame onto it, watching it catch fire and cast light around it once again. Satisfied, he checks the oil reserve beneath the wick. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the nearly full cup, the shiny flammable liquid easily being consumed by his fire. He shrugs, closing the lamp tightly. A stray gust of wind must have blown it out early on into the night. He fails to notice that none of the others were out as he slides down the pole.
A shadow surges out of the alleyway, rough hands latching onto the lapels of his jacket and raising him up. They slam him against the wall of the nearest building and his head whips back, knocking hard against the bricks. Stars dance in his vision as he reaches over and across his chest, digging his fingers into the side of his attacker's palm.
They're a good foot and a half taller than Tango and hold him at chest height, slightly above the ground. A mask covers their face as they stare at him with ice cold blue eyes. Panicking, Tango pushes on the wall with his foot, trying to twist the person's arm and get them to release their grip. His assailant grunts, pressing him against the wall, causing his ribs to crack under the pressure. Tango kicks out, the ball of his foot connecting with the attacker's abdomen. They inhale sharply, their grip loosening and allowing Tango to peel one of their hands away and twist their arm behind their back as he lands on the ground.
He kicks the back of their knee, sending them to the ground. The abrupt movement causes him to overbalance and stagger forward, landing awkwardly on their back. He recovers himself and increases the pressure on the arm bar, and the person yells in pain. They kick back, causing Tango's mount position to waver. He growls fiercely, suppressing his terror as he struggles against their thrashing.
The attacker twists and throws him off. Tango springs to his feet, dusting off the tender sidewalk burns as he considers running. It's too late by the time he makes his decision, his opponent charging and grabbing his shoulder in an iron grip. Tango swings his arm up and over theirs, locking their elbows together and pressing forward, standing on his toes to maximise his leverage.
His blaze rods are a tornado around his head now, glowing white-hot when the person finally releases him. He bolts, sprinting for home, and the hand closes around his collar, dragging him back with near-impossible strength. Tango gasps, pulling at the front of his shirt as it chokes him. He barely has time to react before a bag is put over his head, pinning his blaze rods close to his head. They begin to burn through the thick fabric, filling the small space with smoke.
Tango holds his breath as light begins to peek through. He struggles against their grip, then another hood is placed over his head – not as tight, but still filling with suffocating smoke as his rods begin to burn that, too.
A collar of sorts is buckled around his throat, clinching the fabric closed. It's pulled slightly too tight and he gasps, filling his lungs with dizzying smoke. He claws at the thick restraints, yet his feet are swept out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. He hyperventilates, the wind knocked out of him as he rolls on the ground, hands pawing weakly at his throat. More and more smoke fills his lungs as he chokes and gasps.
The attacker turns him onto his stomach, a knee digging into the small of his back as they manhandle his arms behind his back. His jacket is stripped off his shoulders, exposing him to the night air. He struggles, gradually growing weaker and weaker as he suffocates on the smoke caused by his dying blaze rods. Manacles click around his wrists as he goes limp, still breathing feebly.
The hood is removed from his head, allowing the smoke to dissipate. Tango takes a breath of fresh air, drinking it in greedily. Chains clink distantly as he feels them being wrapped around his lower legs. He briefly considers struggling or crying out, then a hand lands on the back of his head, mashing his face into the ground. He bites his lower lip, drawing blood and puncturing it through. His mouth fills with the salty tang of iron as he's lifted up into a seated position, swaying from the rush of blood to his head. Links of metal pin his arms to his sides, pinching and bruising his skin where the chains made contact.
The attacker grunts, making direct eye contact with Tango. They stuff a wad of fabric into his mouth, then tie it in place with another strip of cloth. His hair is caught up in the knot and he whimpers past the gag, the fabric already cutting into the sides of his mouth. He's blinded again and hefted into the air like a sack of potatoes, then carried off into the cold of the night.
===
He fell asleep sometime during the journey, coming to when he's set on his feet. Sue him. Working at a bar until two or two-thirty in the morning tended to leave one exhausted. Getting into a street fight almost immediately afterwards completely wiped him out. Not to mention that he'd been forcefully kidnapped and carried here, whoever 'here' was. So yes, Tango is exhausted, and one can't blame him.
His knees buckle almost immediately after he puts weight on them and he slumps to the side, hitting a wall and sliding down the frigid bricks. He moves his jaw tentatively around the gag, stretching the cramped muscles. Dried blood cracks around his lips, the wound in his lip scabbed over and staunched by the rag unceremoniously stuffed in his mouth.
Tango senses his captor moving away, then a heavy metal door clangs shut and he is left alone. He explores to the best of his ability, worming around the room and measuring it out. It's roughly a body length deep from what he presumes is the door and approximately one and a half times that in length.
Disgruntled, he moves into one of the back corners and brings his knees to his chest, feeling the numbing pressure of the chains as he rests his forehead on them. He wiggles his fingers, feeling the blood flow through them slowly as they wake up. It's deathly silent within the cell, the only sound being his broken breathing around the gag. He turns his head and rubs at it with his knee, and the scab breaks, letting blood drip down his chin again. He swallows tightly, most of his saliva (and blood) absorbed by the already soaked rags.
He dozes off after some time, pressed into the corner for warmth. The bricks are freezing, but they are swiftly warmed by his naturally high body heat. His blaze rods are dull and lifeless, clustered near his head. He's left in the dark, trapped and unable to move much more than his fingers and torso. He has nothing better to do, so he sleeps, trying to restore the energy he has lost.
The door bangs open and startles him from his sleep. The interior of the hood is still dark, adding to his building panic. His heart thrums in his throat, racing as he struggles to control his breathing. He's acutely aware of everything he's touching, even more so of the warm blood dribbling down his chin. His ears prick up, identifying two sets of footsteps entering the room.
"'E looks like a good one," a deep voice says, far above his head. "Healthy?"
The other person snorts. "Almost tore my arm off. I think so."
Tango growls deep in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest. He stiffens and presses even more against the wall as he hears one set plod over to him. He tenses his shoulders, squeezing them up by his ears to protect his neck. The attempt is useless as they grab the hood – and a fistful of his hair – and yank his head forward, fat fingers groping at the collar.
He can see for the first time since his kidnapping, able to carefully observe the two rough-looking men illuminated by the single lantern hanging from the tiled ceiling. They are of similar build, standing at roughly the same height and weight. Their skin tone appears to be a medium brown, complemented by sandy blond facial hair. Both have caps pulled down low over their foreheads, casting their eyes into shadow.
Tango snarls, curling back his upper lip and baring his teeth. His blaze rods pick themselves up again, slowly floating around his head as they warm up. His stomach rumbles quietly and he mentally curses himself. Fire of any sort requires energy; sleep could only make up for a small amount of that. He regrets not taking the offered leftovers when the tavern closed. Then again, there was no way he could have foreseen this. He's still going to blame himself, though. There isn't anyone else even remotely associated with the situation.
He's stuck.
"'E's bleedin', 07," the man on the left comments, bending down and grabbing Tango's chin and turning his head from side to side.
07 snorts again. "Almost tore my arm off. He got what he asked for."
Tango growls again, rods flaring outward with a flash. The unnamed man jumps backward with a vulgar curse, the hair on the back of his hand more than slightly singed. His blaze rods retreat, circling tightly and glowing a warm yellow.
07 guffaws, hunching over as he makes fun of his friend's burn. "Looks like he might have to be put to sleep anyway, 06! That was one outburst!"
"Them drugs are expensive," 06 grumbles. "You sure we can't do this without 'em?"
"You feel like losing a hand, then go lose a hand. Not my problem." 07 turns and exits the room, waving dismissively at his partner. "I'm getting the needle."
Tango shrinks back into the corner as 06 advances again, forcing his rods to whirl into a flaming cone of light. They spark and hiss in desperation as he squeezes his knees closer to his chest, the chains grabbing at and pinching his skin. He ducks his head as the man lunges, catching his outstretched hand in his crown of fire. His assailant screams, clutching his blistering hand to his chest.
Tango smirks triumphantly, sweat dripping down the back of his neck from the exertion. He's fuelled purely by adrenaline now, his heart beating at an impossible rate as 07 reenters the room, eyeing his companion with disdain. He holds a bare syringe in his right hand, fingers braced on the metal tubing and plunger. A thick mitt covers his opposite hand, all the way up to his elbow. Their eyes lock, and Tango's fill with fiery determination. He can still fight him; he just needs to burn him bad enough before he runs out of energy.
The mitt is fire resistant because of course it is. 07 catches his head and presses it to the side, jabbing his cold, oversized needle into Tango's neck. The injection pushes against his skin painfully, triggering every nerve in the area. Tango screams into the wad of fabric in his mouth, tearing himself away and onto the ground away from the blood-coated needle. A steady drip of blood makes its way down his neck from the wound.
He struggles away, eyes wide with fear as 07 approaches him again, the injection still incomplete. 07 drops onto him, putting his full body weight into the centre of Tango's chest with his knee. Whatever was in the syringe steadily makes its way through his body, slowly shutting it down. His eyelids droop, snapping open when the needle goes in a second time. The subsequent pressure fades out as the chemicals steal his consciousness and flee.
===
If there's one thing his captors didn't account for, it was metabolism. Blazes ran hotter than most hybrids, often burning at the equivalent of human radiators. Their systems and cells move and work faster than most, churning out energy and proteins endlessly to fuel and maintain homeostasis. They needed it to remain functional to ensure they were able to care for themselves and survive.
Tango's eyes crack open as the chains are being undone, releasing his bruised and battered skin. The gag was gone and his skin clean, the wound through his bottom lip sewed shut neatly. He flexes his fingers absently, watching with detached interest as the people around him panicked. They throw themselves on top of him as if he was about to escape, pinning him to the cold papery table he was laying on.
He blinks sluggishly, feeling his ankles being clamped down. He doesn't have a shirt, the biting cold from the surface beneath him waking him up further. His blaze rods don't move, still too tired to cause the flares necessary. Instead, he lays there, gradually working up his strength to push the human weight off of his chest.
Their voices are muffled as the call to each other, gesturing and signing to others inside and out of his field of view. He hums quietly, shifting and pushing upwards. They panic, another set of hands arriving on his shoulders and ramming him back onto the freezing slab.
They count down. Suddenly, there are hands around his wrists, snatching them away and out to the side. He blinks away the rest of the fog, whipping his head to the side as a clamp tightens around his arm. He pulls against it uselessly and turns to the other side, finding himself in a similar situation. They're pulled apart until he can barely move them, stretched between the two anchor points.
He kicks out, caught and cut short by the restraints looped around his ankles and lower legs. He screams angrily as those are tightened, too, immobilising him. A hand grabs him by the chin and forces him to look straight ahead at the glaring ceiling lights. He winces, then throws himself against them, straining to escape as a wide band is stretched over his forehead and locked down, keeping him in place.
His chest heaves as his eyes dart from side to side, pupils dilated with fear. His ears twitch as he tries to listen in on their conversations, gleaning a few words and learning nothing. He returns his gaze to the ceiling, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe deeply. His hearing comes out from beneath the water, allowing him to hear clearly for the first time.
"He wasn't supposed to wake up!" one voice was saying, authority ringing under their tone. He can see the scowl painted in their speech. "We'll continue anyways. It doesn't affect today's goal. He should go out pretty quickly, anyway."
"Are you sure this is the right way to go? I'm sure there are other ways to investigate."
"This is the best and only way to resolve my experiment," they say coldly.
"But you'll get filed for medical malpractice!"
"Not if they don't find out. They're going to regret throwing me out when I reveal my discoveries. It won't be difficult to cover this up."
Tango's eyes snap open at the approaching footsteps, locking on the tall human standing beside him. A light blue surgical mask obscures the lower half of their face and their hair is caught up in a similar hair net, kept neatly out of their face. They turn away, another human assisting them in putting on two pairs of latex gloves.
Tango growls at them as they turn back to face him, baring his sharp teeth. Unaffected, they hold out their hand, accepting a small metal tool and holding it with practised fingers. Tango's eyes widen as they trace a finger along the bottom of his ribcage, nodding to themself as his breathing quickens.
The incision begins at his solar plexus – where his ribs meet the tip of his sternum – and neatly continues along the right side of his body. He screams, desperately trying to pull away. The clamps dig into his skin, keeping him trapped, helpless against the merciless scientist dragging their scalpel down the other side of his chest.
He breathes rapidly, blood rushing down his stomach as he panics, his chest and abdomen pumping up and down. The next cut begins at the top of his pelvic bone and travels across to meet the other one, fresh, warm blood welling up and beginning to spill from there as well. Tears stream from his eyes as he barely manages to look down at the wounds, blood pooled around his body.
A final incision is made, connecting the two down the middle. Black dots cloud his vision as he stares at the ceiling, barely breathing through the blinding pain. He gave up screaming long ago, his throat hoarse, raw, and torn. There isn't supposed to be this much blood, he's sure of it, as he feels the walls of his abdomen being opened and exposed.
Around him, lab workers are shouting at each other, trying to hook up life support around the operator. At least they have that basic amount of decency. This time, as he closes his eyes, he knows he won't be waking up again.
^-^
So uh, hi. I'm back. With a new thing. Febuwhump.
Supposed to be daily updates but I've only got up to day 3 pre-written. Gonna do my best to finish before June, though (/hj).
Prompt list on Tumblr (just search Febuwhump 2024). I'm taking requests if you have suggestions lol
Suggestions aren't limited by anything except my ever-present NO SMUT rule :)
Be as vague or specific as you like!