Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May contain writing errors.

English is not my first language, please excuse any mistakes.

Stories with weak or very vague plots.

Some parts may be adapted from movies, TV shows, or inspired by songs and musicals.

This is not a professional work; these are just short stories or drafts. These stories were originally meant for reactions, but I’m not good at writing characters reacting to things. If anyone wants to use them for reactions, feel free to do so — as long as you credit/tag me. I’d love to read them. 💙

Chapter Text

"How many are there?" a muffled voice sounded in his ear.

 "Five," another voice replied, equally muffled. "Four are walking back and forth in the hallway, and one is standing in front of the door."

 "TH, did you manage to shut down the cameras?"

 "No. I’d need more time for that, which we don’t have right now, but I looped the footage. They won’t see anything other than the guard robots," the second voice replied; the sound of typing echoed in his ears. "Frost, you have to be fast. You have at most twenty minutes before they start suspecting something."

 "Understood." He dropped through the hole he had made in the ventilation duct. "I'm inside," he murmured as he looked around the room. Four large glass tubes were lined up in the center of the lab. One of them was open; the monitoring screen glowed green, while the other three were sealed and glowed a dark red.

 Frost swallowed hard.

 "Four tubes. One success, three failures."

 He heard his teammates mutter curses filled with frustration and anger. If they had discovered that place earlier, they could have saved the children who were being used in experiments. 

He moved closer to the open tube, frowning. A low groan caught his attention; he sharpened his senses, trying to identify the source of the sound. His eyes shifted to the only other door in the laboratory, hidden in the corner of the room—the only one that wasn’t the exit. He approached the door carefully; his hand tightened around the hilt of the dagger before pulling it from the sheath strapped firmly to his thigh.He pressed his ear against the door, trying to hear more: a low groan, too high-pitched to belong to an adult. 

Frost used his only free hand to grip the doorknob and turn it slowly before opening the door inch by inch. His eyes widened when he saw a small figure curled up in the corner of what looked like a storage room. It was a blond boy, extremely pale and thin, staring back at him with wide blue eyes. He looked terrified, afraid of the man standing before him.

 "Hey, kid." Frost took a few steps forward before crouching down, keeping some distance. "You don’t need to be afraid. I’m here to help."

 The boy flinched as he approached. Fear twisted into pain on his face; the child writhed as a loud gasp escaped him. Sweat ran down his face, making the thin white pajamas cling to his body.

 "H-help…" he murmured, before the groans stopped and his body went limp. Frost rushed forward, catching the boy before his head could hit the floor. He cursed under his breath when he felt how hot the child’s body was.

 "I found the boy," he murmured, carrying him out of the storage room. 

"How is he?"

 "Very hot. He passed out. WW, prepare the infirmary," he said as he placed the boy on top of an empty table. Then he removed the backpack from his shoulders and filled it with anything he thought might be important.

 "Understood."

 Frost pulled a small device from the backpack, slung it back over his shoulders, and picked the boy up again. He sighed before pressing a button on the teleportation device he had created; it could only be used to teleport to a place that had another similar device. 

{---} 

A stretcher was already prepared when he stepped into the infirmary. Frost watched as WW checked the boy, his expression serious and his hands quick. TH placed a hand on his shoulder, his face filled with concern.

 "He has my blood," Frost whispered to his friend. "They experimented on those children using my blood. He was the only survivor… who knows how many came before him." 

His friend didn’t say anything; he only squeezed Frost’s shoulder. TH’s green eyes met Frost’s blue ones in a silent attempt at comfort.

 {---}

 The boy woke up two days later, terrified and screaming at the top of his lungs. Now he was there, watching Frost closely, tracking his every movement. The boy’s name was Bernard Dowd, and he was thirteen years old. His parents had been killed on the day he was kidnapped, five months earlier. Frost had discovered that while reading the files he had stolen from the laboratory and the reports TH had managed to copy from the police system.

"You’re like me." The boy’s voice was hoarse after all the screaming. "Your picture… it was in the doctors’ files."

 "Yeah… they used my…" He paused, unsure of what to say. "My blood on you and on other children."

 Children who were now dead. Bernard’s lips trembled; his hands tightened around the thick, fluffy blanket—the yellow one WW had placed over him the night before.

 "Can you teach me?" he asked, his voice low and uncertain. 

"Teach you?" 

"To control this." He pointed at his own body. Frost ruffled the boy’s hair with a small smile. He knew exactly how the boy felt—weak and useless—just like he had felt years ago.

 "I can try. I’m not a good teacher."

 Bernard’s lips curved into a small smile. It was faint and gentle, almost imperceptible, but it was still a smile—the first after months trapped in an unknown place, being pierced and handled like an object. 

"We’ll learn together."