Fic: Your Scream Won't Be Heard
Title: Your Scream Won't Be Heard
Characters/Pairings: Critic/ATG, Spoony
H/C Bingo Prompt: Isolation
Word Count: 645
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Not to worry, this is the last of the fic today. Sorry.
Critic was running out of ways to entertain himself. The room was dark and small, nothing he could play with and even keeping himself warm wasn't particularly easy. He'd sung all the opera and commercial jingles he knew, he'd imagined Catherine Zeta Jones leaving her husband and developed a taste for younger flesh instead and he wondered with a groan whether he would have to review Avatar twenty years from now.
But most of all, the thing really sticking on his mind, was when the hell Ask That Guy was going to finally let him out.
He wasn't stupid. Obviously he knew that Ask That Guy wasn't going to let him get away with what happened in Kickassia (not for caring purposes, but for the sole reason of 'yay punishment!") but, really, he'd hoped for something more solid and over quickly than isolating him in a cold, small room with no end near in sight.
Well he wasn't going to break, fuck no. Ask That Guy wanted to see him lose it and beg to be let out and he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
He wouldn't give in.
***
Ask That Guy was bored out of his skull. The Critic being around at least had one plus - there was always someone to annoy and torture. And while it was a lot of fun imagining what he'd be like when it was finally time to let him out, he was starting to run out of hookers to maim.
He pressed himself against the door of the locked room, not making a sound of his own and listening in for anything on the other side.
There was hushed crying, he figured out with joy. He wasn't going to let him out yet, give him a few more days or even a week, let him go almost insane with starvation, cold and the sensory deprivation. That would be fantastic and so, so fun.
But he needed to go out, abuse someone else, leave Critic completely on his own for the remaining time.
He was going crazy himself with nobody around.
***
As he smashed in the window of the Critic's house, Spoony reasoned to himself that it had been three weeks since Kickassia. Since Critic hadn't been heard from since then, it was only right for someone to check up on him.
Just to check that he wasn't doing anything stupid, obviously, not because he was worried or anything.
He wandered around the house, searching for any signs of life. Nothing yet.
But then there was screaming, sounding like it was coming from the fucking walls.
"Ask That Guy! Ask That Guy! I give up, let me out!"
He didn't know where it was coming from and it freaked him the fuck out. "Critic, where are you?" he shouted, hoping he would hear him.
"Spoony?"
"We'll talk later. Give me a fucking hint where you are!"
"Um, a small, locked room on... the second floor, I think."
He rolled his eyes and rushed up the stairs, checking all the rooms. Finally he came to a small closet space and banged on the door. "You in there?"
"How exactly are you going to get me out?"
He took a deep breath and got out the bent paperclip he had learned to use when Insano kept getting himself accidentally locked in with no key. "Just shut up and let me work, okay?"
Eventually he managed it and the door unlocked. His eyes widened at the Critic's state; red eyes, full, disgusting-looking beard, shaking from the obvious cold and not even able to stand. It kind of made him wish for N. Bison to come back, 'cos this was pitiful.
Averting his eyes from the bony-looking frame, he helped the man get up and caught him when he stumbled almost immediately.
"It's okay, man, it's okay. I've got you."
Characters/Pairings: Critic/ATG, Spoony
H/C Bingo Prompt: Isolation
Word Count: 645
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Not to worry, this is the last of the fic today. Sorry.
Critic was running out of ways to entertain himself. The room was dark and small, nothing he could play with and even keeping himself warm wasn't particularly easy. He'd sung all the opera and commercial jingles he knew, he'd imagined Catherine Zeta Jones leaving her husband and developed a taste for younger flesh instead and he wondered with a groan whether he would have to review Avatar twenty years from now.
But most of all, the thing really sticking on his mind, was when the hell Ask That Guy was going to finally let him out.
He wasn't stupid. Obviously he knew that Ask That Guy wasn't going to let him get away with what happened in Kickassia (not for caring purposes, but for the sole reason of 'yay punishment!") but, really, he'd hoped for something more solid and over quickly than isolating him in a cold, small room with no end near in sight.
Well he wasn't going to break, fuck no. Ask That Guy wanted to see him lose it and beg to be let out and he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
He wouldn't give in.
***
Ask That Guy was bored out of his skull. The Critic being around at least had one plus - there was always someone to annoy and torture. And while it was a lot of fun imagining what he'd be like when it was finally time to let him out, he was starting to run out of hookers to maim.
He pressed himself against the door of the locked room, not making a sound of his own and listening in for anything on the other side.
There was hushed crying, he figured out with joy. He wasn't going to let him out yet, give him a few more days or even a week, let him go almost insane with starvation, cold and the sensory deprivation. That would be fantastic and so, so fun.
But he needed to go out, abuse someone else, leave Critic completely on his own for the remaining time.
He was going crazy himself with nobody around.
***
As he smashed in the window of the Critic's house, Spoony reasoned to himself that it had been three weeks since Kickassia. Since Critic hadn't been heard from since then, it was only right for someone to check up on him.
Just to check that he wasn't doing anything stupid, obviously, not because he was worried or anything.
He wandered around the house, searching for any signs of life. Nothing yet.
But then there was screaming, sounding like it was coming from the fucking walls.
"Ask That Guy! Ask That Guy! I give up, let me out!"
He didn't know where it was coming from and it freaked him the fuck out. "Critic, where are you?" he shouted, hoping he would hear him.
"Spoony?"
"We'll talk later. Give me a fucking hint where you are!"
"Um, a small, locked room on... the second floor, I think."
He rolled his eyes and rushed up the stairs, checking all the rooms. Finally he came to a small closet space and banged on the door. "You in there?"
"How exactly are you going to get me out?"
He took a deep breath and got out the bent paperclip he had learned to use when Insano kept getting himself accidentally locked in with no key. "Just shut up and let me work, okay?"
Eventually he managed it and the door unlocked. His eyes widened at the Critic's state; red eyes, full, disgusting-looking beard, shaking from the obvious cold and not even able to stand. It kind of made him wish for N. Bison to come back, 'cos this was pitiful.
Averting his eyes from the bony-looking frame, he helped the man get up and caught him when he stumbled almost immediately.
"It's okay, man, it's okay. I've got you."