I Need You

Dash sat curled up in the corner of the cell, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around himself. His body soaked because they hosed him down to clean up the vomit. Shaking violently, not for the cold water but from the horror he had witnessed, the screams, the blood, the way her organs had moved.

Somewhere down the hall, behind locked doors, scientists were working to stabilize Violet. He didn't know how long it had been since they had taken her. Minutes? Hours? It felt like forever.

Then the door opened.

Two guards stepped in with the same indifference as always, dragging Violet's limp body between them. Dash barely had time to react before they threw her.

He lunged forward, trying to catch her, but he was too small, too weak. She crashed into him, knocking the air from his lungs as they both hit the floor.

"HEY!" Dash shouted, his voice cracking with fury. "Be careful with her, she is—!"

The door slammed shut.

They were gone.

Dash gritted his teeth, his body shaking with anger, but when he looked down at Violet in his arms, all of it drained away.

"Vi!" His voice cracked as he gently shifted her off him, laying her down on the cold floor

She didn't respond.

Dash hovered over her, his hands shaking. He wanted to help her, to fix her, but what could he do? He was terrified to touch her and hurt her even more.

Her face was pale, her breathing shallow and uneven. Sweat clung to her skin, mixing with the dried blood that stained her clothed bandages. Bruises on her wrist, ankles and stump where she was strapped on.

The sight made something inside him shatter.

A broken, bitter laugh escaped his lips.

For the first time in his life, she had been faster than him.

He was the fast one. The one who never got caught, the one who outran everything. But she had beaten him.

She knew what "vivisection" meant before he did. And because of that, she beat him to volunteering.

When it mattered the most… he had been too slow.

And it had cost her everything.

Dash swallowed hard, his chest tightening as his mind spiraled into memories.

Every single time he had annoyed her. Every time he had made her life just a little harder because that's what little brothers did.

Like the time he put a fake mouse in her bed when she was twelve. She had screamed so loud that Mom had come running, and Dash had laughed so hard he could barely breathe.

All the times he had called her bossy, mocked her for being a know-it-all.

All the times he stole her diary

All the times he teased her about that boy she liked.

God, he had been awful.

And yet… after everything—after all the teasing, all the fights, all the times he made her life harder—she had never hesitated to protect him.

First, she had lost her arm for him.

And now, this.

Dash's breath hitched. His fingers curled around hers, squeezing desperately.

"Vi…I—I'm sorry." He shut his eyes, pressing his forehead against her hand. His voice was barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, his throat burning. "I do care. Even when it didn't seem like it. Even when I was a little brat. I— I care so much."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I will stop pulling pranks on you, I won't read your Diary ever again… I will be a better brother"

He couldn't lose her. He couldn't. Not like this.

"So please—please, I beg you… wake up..." he whispered, his voice thick with grief and fear.

All the responde he got was the sound of her slow and painful breathing.

Dash didn't know how much time had passed—hours, maybe days. Time blurred into a slow, suffocating fog inside the cell. The only thing that mattered was the faint rise and fall of Violet's chest.

She hadn't woken up. Not once.

He hadn't left her side. Curled up beside Violet, his small body pressed against hers, trying to share what little warmth he had. Her skin was too cold. She barely even felt alive.

He hadn't slept. He couldn't. Every time his eyelids drooped, panic jolted him awake. What if she stopped breathing while he slept? What if she slipped away and he wasn't there to hold her hand?

The scientists had come twice.

The first time, they checked her vitals—cold hands pressing on her wrist, lifting her eyelids, their voices low and clinical. Dash sat frozen, watching every move, expecting the words he dreaded—She's not going to make it.

But they didn't say that. They scribbled notes and left.

The second time, they had brought an IV. They changed her bandages, peeling back the stained fabric to reveal the angry stitches crisscrossing her stomach. Dash had to look away, bile rising in his throat. He didn't want to see what they had done to her—didn't want to remember the way her body had moved under their tools.

Dash flinched when they inserted the needle into her arm, but he kept quiet. He didn't want to give them a reason to hurt her more.

He didn't know what was in the IV. Something to keep her alive, maybe. But he doubted it was anything to help with the pain. After all, they had cut her open without anesthesia—why would they care now?

The sound of the door opening cut up his thoughts. guards threw in their usual meager rations, but Dash's stomach twisted with too many emotions to feel hunger.

But then he noticed her lips—dry, cracked, peeling.

She needed water.

Dash took the cup of water. He hesitated, unsure of how to do this without choking her.

Then he had an idea, he tore a strip from his already-worn sleeve and dipped it into the small tin cup they had been given.

Carefully, with hands trembling from exhaustion and nerves, he lifted her head.

He squeezed a few drops of water into her mouth, watching nervously.

"C'mon Vi" he whispered. His voice cracked. "Just a little."

For a moment, nothing happened, and his heart seized in panic.

Then, he felt it—the faintest movement.

She swallowed.

Relief flooded him so hard he almost cried.

She was still in there. Her body was fighting, even if she couldn't wake up.

He gave her more water, drop by drop. Each swallow felt like a victory.

As he continues to give her water. His mind flashed back to one of the darkest moments in this nightmare—the night they had been punished together. Chained up, bodies aching, minds breaking.

And her voice, weak but certain, whispering to him:

"You are the reason I didn't crumble.."

"You're my anchor, Dash…"

"I need you…"

Tears welled in his eye. He squeezed it shut, holding them back.

She needed him.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his voice barely a whisper:

"I'm here, Vi… I'm not leaving… I'll take care of you… I promise… whatever happens next… I'll keep you safe…"

It was a vow—a desperate, silent oath from a little brother who had nothing left to give but himself.