Attempting Whumptober 2020, because why not. I will mention that this set will be mainly for my benefit and learning more than anything as a way to practice writing specific prompts and writing for a deadline; the editing will be minimal. Here we go...

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging


Halt came to with a groan, his aching head and burning wrists the first thing that registered in his murky consciousness. A squint at the environment revealed a dark, damp cell... shackled, then, which explained his chafed, throbbing wrists.

Of course he and Crowley had ended up in the dungeons of a Baron still loyal to Morgarath. They had been passing through the fief, too eager, too hurried, and altogether too careless. Halt swore quietly; they should know better, him and Crowley...

Wait.

Crowley.

With a jolt, Halt craned his head around in search of his friend while simultaneously cursing his slowness. The sight of Crowley in the adjoining cell did little to ease the Ranger's worry, as the Commandant was shackled to the wall in a similar state to Halt.

The difference?

Crowley remained unconscious, the blood matting his hairline a stark contrast to his pale complexion.

Licking his lips, Halt forced his voice to work. "Crowley. Wake up."

The other Ranger didn't so much as stir. His face creasing, Halt coughed, willing himself to be louder. "Hey. Crowley, wake up."

Finally, Crowley's nose twitched, his face scrunching in discomfort, and Halt gave a sigh of relief. "There you are. Are you alright?"

A stupid question, truly, considering both Halt and Crowley could be on death's door and still claim to be "fine", but Crowley answered regardless with a slurred groan as he finally opened his eyes, the normally clear hazel now a washed out, murky brown. "...'urts."

Dropping his head down to his knees, Crowley didn't seem to expect an answer. Halt didn't give one, instead electing to absently fiddle with the manacles encircling his wrists.

When footsteps echoed down the hallway, both Rangers warily lifted their eyes, manacles clinking in a sort of discordant harmony as both instinctively drew their hands towards where their saxes normally hung.

The man who stopped in front of the cells had a manic glint in his eyes that had Halt curling a fist as his gaze flicked between the two Rangers, before finally speaking to the two guards that flanked him.

"That one," the man gesturing towards Crowley. "He's the leader of the Rangers." He spat out the last word as if it left a sour taste leaving his mouth. Immediately, the guards entered Crowley's cell, roughly unshackling and hauling the Commandant to his feet. Crowley stumbled, only to be immediately punished with a blow to the cheek.

Halt surged to his feet and hit the end of his shackles. "No! It's me - I'm the leader! Take me ins-"

"Halt!" Crowley barked suddenly, a bruise already blossoming across his cheek. His voice was tired, slurred, but held an unexpected ring of authority. "Stand down. I'll be fine."

Halt clenched his jaw as his and Crowley's eyes met for the briefest moment before the Commandment was roughly shoved through and out the hall.

Shaking as he sank back to the floor, Halt curled his arms around himself, burying his head into his knees.

The position did little to muffle the eventual screams.