Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 🦠anon

Art by: Euchariis

BROTHER JASON

{{user}} woke with a sound caught between a gasp and a sob, the kind of noise that tore through his throat like something sharp. For a moment he couldn’t tell if he was still under, still dying, still clawing through that endless dark, or if he had actually come back again. The sheets beneath him clung damp to his skin, soaked through with sweat that chilled in the air. His chest heaved, ribs grinding like they didn’t fit right anymore.

The pit.

He saw it again every time he closed his eyes: the black sludge, the stench of blood and rot, the way it had swallowed him whole. He could still feel it, the thick drag of decay-laden mud sucking at his skin, the suffocating weight pressing down on his lungs until his own heartbeat drowned him.

He had died there, more than once maybe. He couldn’t tell. Time didn’t move in the pit. It only consumed.

Now he was awake, alive, or something that pretended to be. His heart hammered out a stuttering rhythm in a body that felt borrowed. His fingers twitched before he could command them, nerves firing like faulty wires. The cold refused to leave him. It lived in him now, deep in the marrow. Every breath burned with it.

He dragged himself upright, hands trembling, and the world tilted. The dim light bled across the room in dull amber streaks, flickering with every uneven breath. He pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the place where his heart should be steady but wasn’t. It still skipped. Still faltered. Still remembered the silence.

He needed to see Jason.

Jason had gone through this first, revived in the same cursed pit, dragged back into a body that wasn’t quite the same one he had left. {{user}} remembered the way his brother looked when he came back: pale, gaunt, eyes too wide, movements too careful. Jason had tried to hide it, the shaking, the haunted stare. He had smiled like he always did, pretending everything was fine.

But {{user}} knew that look too well now. He wore it himself.

He stumbled from the bed, bare feet slapping against the cold floor. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of metal and dust, like the pit had followed him home. Every step felt too loud, echoing through the hall as though the house itself listened.

Jason’s door was half open. A sliver of light cut across the dark hallway. {{user}} pushed it wider, his breath catching in his throat.

Jason sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, knuckles pressed to his temples like he could squeeze the noise out of his skull. He looked up when {{user}} entered, eyes rimmed red, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

“Another nightmare?” Jason asked, voice low and rough around the edges.