#Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

[savebatsfromscratch]

No.30. Blood Seeps Through Yellow Hair

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51233530

Words: 1,092

Cws: Injury, near death

Notes: Sorry, dunno why Yellow ends up getting really hurt every time I write these two.

Prompt: No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Yellow shivered as she lay in Blue’s arms, and he didn’t need to be feeling it to see that her healing power was flickering. “No- No, no-,” He gasped, stumbling just a little faster up the hill. He didn’t know quite what that flickering meant, but he doubted that it was good.

He couldn’t lose her, not like this.

“Come on Yellow,” he was nearly begging now, “Just a little further, you can do it,”

Yellow, of course, did not respond.

She was limp in his arms, but at least she still seemed to be breathing. “You’ve got this Yellow,” he whispered, though he knew she could not hear him, “You’ve got this, j-just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Blue wished he could whip the blurring tears from his eyes, but it was all he could do to keep trudging forward. Yellow wasn’t heavy, and Blue wasn’t weak, but even a little time carrying a passed out girl could really wear on a person, and Yellow had been in his arms for quite a while now.

He couldn’t keep going, but he knew he had to. He could see the lights of the Pokemon center, as warm and yellow as always, flickering through the twisted trees. He was so close, he had to keep going, even if his legs felt like jelly and his arms felt like lead.

“Come on Yellow,” he urged the injured girl, “Hurry up, it’s not that far-,”

He was gasping for breath, and it was clear that whatever energy Yellow had left was being spent on nothing but keeping her alive as blood dripped down her face and onto Blue’s shoulder. She was so hurt that even her healing power had broken. Blue wanted nothing more than to fly or teleport the rest of the way, he knew it would be faster, but he also knew that Yellow’s condition was nothing near stable enough to try it.

Yellow’s breathing was now so faint that Blue could plausibly worry that he would not notice if it stopped.

Finding strength he did not know he had, Blue broke into a run. “Help!” he screamed as the Pokemon center came into full view before him, “Help please! She’s hurt!”

Yellow did not even groan as she jostled around in Blue’s arms, so he only screamed louder as he came closer to the center. “Please!” he screamed, feeling his voice grow hoars with emotion as the nurse rushed out to help him, “Please-,”

Blue stumbled and Yellow slipped partially out of his arms as his knees hit the muddy forest floor. He was full on crying now, and the Nurse Joy’s expression as she took Yellow into her arms didn’t exactly do much good for his panic as the two of them worked to carry Yellow the rest of the way into the Pokemon Center.

Nurse Joy was calling for backup, calling all sorts of awful sounding codes, calling for help… Blue felt Yellow be torn from his hands. He knew that it was good that she was getting into the emergency room immediately, but something deep inside him, some awful, shivering selfishness, wanted to be at her side.

Blue wanted to help her, to feel her hair in his hands as he comforted her, to watch her smile when she woke up to see him, to hear her laugh when she saw the mud stains on his clothes. Now, when he was left alone in that near empty lobby, he felt himself realizing something. He truly loved Yellow, and more than just as a coworker, friend, or student. No. Blue loved her.

He collapsed into one of the center’s chairs, suddenly aware that his legs could not hold him any longer and completely uncaring of the mud that would surely stain the carved wood.

Blue couldn’t live without this girl. This girl with the sunflower hair and the quartz white smile. This girl with the life giving touch and forest taught hands.

Blue knew that he could not wait for her, but, as he stared up at the glowing light above the operating room, he knew he had to. He wanted to spill all his secrets and stories to her listening ears. He wanted to hold her hand as she excitedly told him all about all of her forest memories. He wanted to spend time with her.

But he knew he couldn’t, not yet.

He did not know how long he stared up at that light, but it was long enough that the mud had turned to dirt by the time its red glow had faded.

Instantly, the full force of his panic was back. Did that loss of light mean she had lived? Did it mean she had died? Would he get his chance to tell her his love or had he already missed it?! Blue stood quickly as the door slid open, revealing Nurse Joy’s weak smile in his direction as she came into view.

Blue’s heart pounded in his chest, but his words caught so deep in his throat that they refused to even come out as he glided, zombie-like, towards the door.

He had started crying again (or maybe he had never stopped), and the tears made his vision blurry as he pushed past the Nurse Joy into the room. For one heart stoppingly terrifying moment, he could not tell if Yellow had made it or not, but then he saw her face break into a weak smile as her half opened eyes caught Blue’s.

Blue charged forward, all formalities forgotten as he threw himself at her. In the moment, he didn’t even realize that it might be against medical rules. He hugged her tight to his chest and sobbed, and Yellow laughed and laughed until she too began to cry.

Blue felt her healing magic pulsing through him, and he pulled back from the hug to get a better look at her. Her head was wrapped in a bandage, and the machinery around her was beeping incessantly, but she was alive.

“I love you,” Blue managed, and Yellow didn’t even have time to laugh before he was kissing her. Behind them, the Nurse Joy gasped and started to say something, but neither dexholder paid her any mind as they embraced. It was warm, classy, and quite literally healing as Yellow’s magic exploded outward, warming Blue’s heart as it reached him.

He had done it!

She had done it!

She was alive!

(And Blue didn’t think he was ever going to let her go again.)

[allbuthuman]

i understand (and share) the need for emotionally charged angsty moments, and will very much enjoy it if the manga diverges from the last ep at some points in order to give us some of that, but i think we also need to understand that most of the angst we were making up during the months of waiting was not soukoku-typical and that, despite all the arts and fics and theories (which i also loved), this is how they actually act

pulling off the whole mersault ordeal through coordination, improv and trust while, for all we know, having insufficient information and then showing it off by saying how it was all an act is just like them. it's only disappointing compared to what we wanted from them, not compared to their actual dynamic, and the only thing that makes it anticlimactic is how long we had to wait for it with our minds roaming free. in fact, i don't think that most people reading through the entire arc after it was finished would find it unsatisfying, and i also don't think the characters in a story should be expected to behave as if their actions will be read one tiny bit at a time

i'd still prefer the timing of the manga to be different, taking some time for things to have impact instead of constant action, but the major events in themselves were in character for all the characters involved, and i'm waiting to see how asagiri and harukawa go about it. if they have something very different in mind, i bet they can handle their own characters better than we can

[evillittlebirdie]

Salvation (Kar'niss/Tav)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

"Astarion deserves all the credit for this idea," Tav complimented with a smile. She stopped near the tree where, at the base, sat a bucket and a small bag.

"Where would you be if it wasn't for this creative brain?" Astarion delightedly responded. The two laughed, and Kar'niss pursed his lips.

Before Kar'niss could ruminate on the apparent insolence Astarion showed, his attention was taken away by Tav climbing the tree. He watched in interest as she swiftly moved through the limbs before settling on one near Kar'niss's height. "Kar'niss! Walk over here. I want to see if I'm high enough."

Kar'niss obeyed as though her command was as second nature as breathing. He walked over to her. His head reached the height of the branch she was perched on. "Perfect! I guessed correctly," Tav beamed. She straddled the limb and raised her hand against Kar'niss's hair.  

Ilhar grabbed Kar'niss's hair and pulled him from the vanity. Her manicured nails clawed into his scalp. There was no use protesting, but Kar'niss still squirmed against his mother's grip. She dragged him out of his bed-chamber and down the hallway. Servants and slaves scattered out of the way. Only one, a female duergar slave whose mind was far gone, lingered. They dutifully picked up the pieces of ribbon that fell from Kar'niss' hair. 

Kar'niss is slapped and berated for an infraction he doesn't remember committing. Ilhar says he disrespected his tutor. Kar'niss doesn't remember, but obviously, he must have. 

Kar'niss didn't move as Tav touched his hair. He kept his breath, ready to be hit for his committed transgressions. Instead, Tav explained, "If it's alright with you, I would really like to wash your hair. I didn't want to offer until I could figure out the logistics. I can't exactly ask you to lean into a basin." She gestured towards his body. 

The drider never had the misfortune of being thrown through the air. Still, Kar'niss imagined the sensation was similar to how he was feeling now. What she proposed served no purpose. His extra eyes could see the thin layer of grime that now appeared on Tav's fingers. 

Filthy creature. Putrid, rotting from the inside out. Fit only for caves and dirt. Blood, bile, mud, viscera, oil, matted, wiry-

 But suddenly, Tav's soft voice entered his mind. "Kar'niss."

The other voices scattered away once Tav's light entered his mind. Soothing and sweetly, she told him, "Please do this. Trust me."

His Majesty's Chosen commanded him. Alight with renewed purpose, Kar'niss ignored his mind's insults. He nodded in agreement and was rewarded with Tav's pearly smile.

Astarion grabbed the bucket and the bag. He held both items up high for Tav to grab. 

"It may be cold," She warned him as she waved her hand. The bucket suddenly filled with water. She sat on the side saddle on the limb and placed the bucket between her legs.  

"Ah yes, she warns the drider the water is cold. Not me." Astarion lamented. 

Kar'niss wished he could use one of his legs to kick the elf away. But he stopped himself. Astarion was obviously a pet favorite of Her Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss would only need time to prove the vain elf's heresy. He could smell the elf's faithlessness. He believed in nothing. 

"For the hundredth time, I apologize," Tav sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'll remember that the next time your arms are so sore you can't lift them up."

Astarion huffed disrespectfully, his arms crossing his chest. "Hmph, well, I will leave you to your beauty parlor." Tav chuckled in response, waving to Astarion with her free hand.

Kar'niss was relieved to watch Astarion stroll off. "Can you tilt your head back for me?" Tav asked him. He forgot about Astarion and obeyed Tav. He tilted his head back, and the back of his neck hit the bucket's rim. 

The water that cascaded from Tav's hand was cool, but it wasn't the temperature that made Kar'niss flinch. How long had it been since he felt the water on his hair? He remembered his first few days on the surface. It rained one day, which was a very jarring event for him. And before that, it was when he fell into the water the first day he saw his reflection.

Kar'niss' heart twisted in mortification. It had been years then. So many years. His hygiene never bothered him before. He had grown used to the layers of dirt and dried blood. Before he was introduced to the Absolute, he was content. He had hoped that one day when she made him whole, he could be clean and pure. 

***

Tav didn't care to admit she had a secret motivation for washing Kar'niss's hair. She needed information. And she knew she could ply it out of him. 

Tav ran her fingers through Kar'niss's hair, pulling at the knots. Underneath the oil, Tav could tell his hair was strong and thick. It just needed some tender care. And she was happy to provide. She made sure to pull her fingers carefully through the tangles. She didn't want to hurt his scalp or accidentally pull more hair than necessary. She began to speak as she rinsed his hair, "I used to wash the hair of all my brothers and sisters. I came from a pretty big family. I was the oldest of twelve. What about you?"

"Only son. Disgrace," Kar'niss mumbled quietly, "Five sisters. Proud, proud daughters. All yathrin, priestesses of the spider bitch." 

Tav frowned at his self-depreciation. But didn't know if she should address it or not. She hesitated as she looked at the water. It was already brown, almost black from all the grime she cleaned. She placed her hand under his neck and eased him up. She could feel the hard shell of his exoskeleton rising up to his hairline, where there was a thin line of skin. She pretended not to hear the Kar'niss's breath catch in his throat. She pretended not to feel his pulse quicken. She ran her fingers through his hair, squeezing the excess water into the bucket. 

"You grew up very differently than me. I had six brothers and five sisters..." Tav disclosed as she tossed the bucket of dirty water on the ground below. She filled the pail again with clean water and returned his head to the bucket. 

"Six brothers..." Kar'niss echoed in amazement. Tav couldn't fault him for finding the situation strange. She heard that most noble Drow families allowed for two sons before they began to sacrifice the males. 

Tav reached her wet hand into the bag and pulled out the small bottle of rosemary oil. She poured half of the bottle's contents onto Kar'niss's hair and began to lather.

Kar'niss inhaled deeply, obviously picking up on the aroma of the oil. "Courtesy of Astarion," Tav explained, "No disrespect to my fellow companions, but he's the only one whose hair doesn't smell like lye." 

"Mistress likes this smell?"Kar'niss clarified. 

"Rosemary? Oh, I love it. I can do without that pomade he douses his hair in. But I love the scent," Tav imparted. 

Kar'niss hummed in response, a chirp vibrating in his throat.

Despite herself, Tav giggled softly and told him, "I like that sound you make. That little chirrup. It's cute." 

Kar'niss's extra eyes began to blink rapidly. "Mistress?" He called in confusion. Tav might as well be speaking Draconic rather than Common. 

Tav avoided his call and continued to later his hair in the water. His hair was as white as fallen snow now that it was clean. She moved her fingers to his scalp and began to massage the skin. She was concerned when Kar'niss started to tense. But slowly, he relaxed under her ministrations. 

"Moonrise Towers. That is where you were taking those pilgrims, correct?" Tav inquired. 

"Yes. They sought to pray in my Queen's glory. Our Queen," Kar'niss replied. "Her Majesty's Chosen, General Thorm, is preparing an army."

Fuck.

"An army, you say..." Tav continued on, moving her fingers along scarred skin. How long had it been since Kar'niss had been touched by anyone? How long had it been since a kind, delicate hand gave him mercy? She should be ashamed of herself for taking advantage of him. 

"They shall follow, or they shall submit," Kar'niss answered reverently. A soft moan vibrated in his throat. He bit his lips to quiet it. "But General Thorm cannot move yet."

"Oh?" Tav tried to choose her words carefully. As far as Kar'niss knew, she was one of the Aboslute's Chosen. She rinsed Kar'niss's hair again and allowed the bucket to drop. She reached into the bag to pull out a comb. She brushed through Kar'niss's hair. "He is searching for the weapon." She thought about the Astral Prism safely tucked away at camp. 

"Not much longer," Kar'niss hummed. A purr vibrated in his tone. "He'll find it soon. That and the Nightsong. Balthazar is close to finding it."

The Nightsong. So, this mysterious artifact was connected to the cult as well. Just as Tav suspected. Well, Tav had to find the Nightsong before this Balthazar did.

Tav didn't press her luck. She finished brushing Kar'niss's hair and began to braid it. The movement was as second nature to her as any other caretaking activity. 

"Mistress?" Kar'niss spoke, his voice tentative and still vibrating. 

"Yes, Kar'niss?" Tav acknowledged, taking care of her styling.

***

Kar'niss allowed his mind to wander to a place he had no right to be in. He thought about turning his body to face her. He would reach to pick up Tav in his arms. He would cradle her against his chest. His abominable body would ache, searching for a release he could never have. He cursed the Spider Queen. But he would do what he could to please His Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss had served well and was granted a tender touch. And he would spend the rest of his life cherishing Her if only Tav would touch him one more time. 

"Never mind," Kar'niss answered. He was a coward. And he deserved to rot in the shadows rather than have any grace. "Forgive me for distracting you."

"No forgiveness necessary," Tav commented in her affectionate tone. She gave his hair a final pull before taking a long ribbon from the bag. She used the ribbon to tie his hair back.

Pretty things long ago. Far and long ago. Ilhar wants me to marry. I do not want to marry. I want to be a cleric like my sisters. Ilhar will be proud of me. Lolth will shine upon me. 

"You look absolutely stunning. Your hair is beautiful," Tav remarked. 

Kar'niss hesitantly brought his hand to his hair. It was still damp, but he could already feel the difference. He ran his fingers down the braid to the silk ribbon that tied it together. 

"Thank you, thank you, Mistress..." Kar'niss gratefully murmured, feeling tears form in his eyes. He blinked his eyes close, averting his gaze from Tav. "I feel my strength returning with each day. Maybe soon I can join you on your travels," Kar'niss offered, desperation tinging his voice. He could feel his abdomen tremble in anticipation. 

He would draw blood for her. 

[serickswrites]

I'm Not Ok

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, unconsciousness, blood, wounds, unclear character status

Caretaker stumbled into the darkened room. This was their last hope of finding Whumpee. The last room they had to search before giving up and accepting that Whumper had killed Whumpee and disposed of their body. But Caretaker could not, would not accept that. Not when Whumpee was out there waiting to be saved. Caretaker couldn't fail them.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker called out. The room was so dark and large that Caretaker's flashlight beam only went so far. But it was enough. Caretaker's mouth went dry as the beam of light shone on a figure that lay on the ground. "Whumpee!"

Whumpee lay on their side, back to the door. Caretaker could see that their ankles were chained to the ground and their hands were bound roughly behind their back. But Whumpee didn't stir as Caretaker called out to them.

"Whumpee, say something, Whumpee--oh!" Caretaker rolled Whumpee onto their back and felt their stomach drop. Whumpee was covered with blood, their skin ashen and pale beneath all fo the blood.

Caretaker began to tap Whumpee's cheeks trying to rouse them. "Come on, Whumpee. Wake up. Open your eyes for me."

But Whumpee didn't open their eyes. Didn't so much as move. Caretaker put two shaking fingers to the pulse in Whumpee's throat, hoping that Whumpee was still alive, that they hadn't failed Whumpee. Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief as they felt a thready, weak pulse. Whumpee was still alive.

Caretaker quickly freed Whumpee from their restraints and lifted them into a bridal carry. Whumpee hung limply in their arms, head lolling. "Not much longer, Whumpee. I'm getting you to help. Hold on, not much longer."

Caretaker repeated the phrase as they ran. Because they needed Whumpee to hold on. They needed Whumpee to be ok. They needed Whumpee to open their eyes and smile again. They needed Whumpee to be ok. Because a world without Whumpee wasn't a world that Caretaker wanted to live in.

"Not much longer, hold on. Hold on, Whumpee. I have you. Not much longer."

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer…”

Words: 2.4k

Summary: Theo and Liam fight better together, they learn as much in the hospital. Do they stay so in sync afterward, when Liam starts getting worse and worse?

“Do you have to be anywhere?” Liam asks.  Theo shakes his head.  Without the Dread Doctors directing him around, he’s a lost wolf without a den to return home to.  “Can you stay for a while.”  He winces in pain when he tries putting pressure on his leg, color draining from his face.  “You don’t-” “I can stay,” he says.  Liam sways on his feet, eyes fluttering.  “Let’s sit you down.”   They don’t get the chance.  The beta’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls.  In the same movement he catches him with an arm behind the back, Theo scoops his other underneath Liam’s legs, so his knees are tucked over his elbow.  He nearly stumbles at the added weight, but hoists Liam up against his chest.  His own shoulder burns in pain.  Bullet wounds take longer to heal when the bullet is still inside, and when his body is trying to patch up other cuts and bruises at the same time.  Liam’s head falls back, his muscles going slack, completely limp in his grasp. Getting up the stairs is a challenge, almost falling with an unconscious Liam in his arms.  He has no idea where his bedroom is, just follows where his scent is strongest.  He kicks the door open with one foot, adjusting Liam in his arms.  The beta shifts, neck tipping back, hair tickling Theo’s forearm.   Gently as he can, he sets Liam down his bed, sliding his arms from underneath him.  He puts a hand on his forehead, skin burning up.  Every part of the room has different scents, all so uniquely Liam.  Being in his space makes it hard to keep a handle on his own chemosignals, with how much he wants to sink into Liam’s.  That’ll have to wait.  

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 30:

"It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay'."

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | "Not much Longer…."

Fandom: Bat Family

Prompts used: All

Ive been reading dpxdc but am not confident yet, so heres some OOC Bats, based mostly on Wayne Family Adventures, tried angsting some new people for once! I have only read Duke in WFA so hes probably the most OOC forgive me. But let me know, Id love to hear from ya'll on any of my posts :)

TW for blood and injuries, near death experiences

…

"I am never letting you talk me into this again."

Tim glares at the far wall, hanging by his feet, arms tied to his chest. He's in civvies, and his brothers WILL owe him a new outfit after this.

"Oh come on, you were the perfect bait!" Jason's voice comes through the comm, barely holding back his snickers.

"Hush Little-Wing. I'll take you to your favorite coffee place- at a reasonable time- to make up for it BabyBird." Dicks voice is far more sympathetic and even tinged with the anxiety that comes with seeing his brothers in harm's way.

"Then Jay owes me a new outfit." He murmurs a tad petulantly.

"TT, I still think we should have snuck in instead of this, convoluted, plan."

"That would have been fine if we had known where they were located, hence this plan." Duke yawns as he finishes his sentence, pulling a double shift for this case.

"Next time, someone else can be the hostage." Tim grumbles as a headache grows with all the blood rushing to it.

"Whatever you say Timmy." Jason placates mockingly.

"Is anyone else concerned about how long they've left Red Robin alone?" Barbara's exasperated voice comes through the comms, bringing everyone back.

"The lack of blood in my legs should definitely be considered." Tim comments, swinging slightly to try and look around.

"Well, it looks like everyone is-"

"Leaving the building!" Duke cuts Dick off, Jason curses,

"Looks like we got some rats to catch!" He calls, leaping from his hiding spot before the others could react.

"Hang in there Tim, we'll be back!"

"I regret my existence."

"TT is that all?" Damian is a millisecond behind Jason, Dick and Duke give each other an eye roll of comradery, before they are following.

They put up a fight. Seemingly desperate to escape- though it's not super odd- they seem more scared of not being able to leave than of the Bats themselves.

"Not much longer…" The anxious mutter comes from the goon closest to Signal.

He’s quick to pin him, nerves flying in his gut, telling him that they were missing something important.

“Until what?” He pulls his best Batman voice, tired gravel helping him hopefully.

Pinned against the building, Signal doesn’t really need an answer from the goon, the light gives him a glimpse of exactly what he needs to know, but the answer comes anyway,

“B-bomb...”

“Guys, we’ve got a situation! I’m going in for T- the hostage!” Duke catches himself throwing the guy to the nearest Bat, “Find the bomb!” He dashes into the building.

“A bomb?” Tims voice groans, “I am owed several coffees, thank you.”

“Maybe focus on not blowing up first?” Duke's voice is strained, not yet so nonchalant with these types of threats.

“The goons are ready for transport, we’re headed to the device, just stay calm Duke.” Dicks voice is level, and Duke takes a breath to match it.

Tim is partway untied, having been working on it since he’d been hooked, his face is flushed but he gives a lopsided grin- likely to comfort Duke.

“Signal, my man, come to hang out?”

“Har har, let's get you down.”

He steadies him as his feet touch the ground, head spinning and body reorienting, they haven’t even taken a step yet when the whole building shakes, rickety floors and creaky walls groaning with the effort.

“Uh, guys?” Duke cautions, worry skyrocketing again.

“Time to move!”

Duke doesn't need to be told twice, he scoops Tim into his arms with a grunt and finds himself sprinting once more.

“Blushing bride was not on my list.” He mumbles, hand holding his head as the other tires to keep him stable.

“Don't worry, sure it doesn't count when the blood had no other option.”

“You’d be surprised.”

The floor is crumbling as another tremor wracks the old bones of the place. He makes the decision to find the nearest window, taking the Bat route out, and sending a prayer to whoever listened that they all made it out.

“You’re ok… ‘s good…” Blood is a second skin, Jason's jacket torn to shreds as glass and wood alike protrude from his body.

“Todd.. you're…” Damian looks up at the unhooded vigilante, minor damage to himself as he see the crushing weight his brother keeps off him.

“Relax kid… Won't die frem the same ting twice.”

“Jay! Damian!” Dick coughs, the bloody hero shoving at the beams across Jays back until the two can get free. “Are you guys okay?”

“S’fine, lets get baby brat outta here.” The slur comes and goes from his tone, whether from a given effort or otherwise they can't tell. Shifting nearby has them tensing, before a light shines at them,

“Oh thank the Gods.” Duke is dusty but unharmed, moving debris ever so carefully to give them a path out.

“M’place s’closest.” Jason murmurs, leaning heavily on Damian who hadnt moved from his side.

“I can not carry you Todd, stay awake.” The youngest mutters despite his stance.

“M-“

“It's okay just to say ‘I’m not okay’.” Duke interrupts quickly, taking the lead as Dick takes the rear.

“...could be better.” He concedes.

“You are not this much bigger than me. How?” Tim swims in the borrowed shirt and sweats, as does Damian, but neither seems keen to take them off either as they plop onto Jason's couch.

In the kitchen, Duke, Jason and Dick patch each other up carefully, channeling Alfred as best they can until they decide the trip is worth it. Jason grits his teeth as another stitch pierces his skin, Dick muttering a thousand quiet apologies in several languages. Duke keeps his eyes on his own job, if for nothing else than to keep from cringing and hurting Dick.

“We’re bringing the girls next time. This never happens when they're around.” Tim grumbles, ice pack on his face.

“I beg to differ.” Dick mutters.

“Is night shift always like this?” Duke ties off his last bandage and goes about cleaning up.

“Meh.” He gets several, so so hand gestures and a tutt and groans to himself.

“We’re alive, goons apprehended, I'm calling it a win.”

[gierosajie-art]

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List | No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Bridal Carry | "Not much longer..."

[OC | Bansaimaika]

"You're going to run out of magic soon."

"Do not," Cerulean hisses when she feels him attempt to lift a hand. "I can still draw from the air, but you-" she skips down a drop, "any more casting and you'll be dead from poisoning!"

"Then just teleport without me. You're too important to be caught here," Vivencio tried to reason. Neither of them have the capacity to escape quickly like this, Cerulean not having the skill to bring another person, and Vivencio already having an unsafe amount of magic in his blood. Still, she will not have it.

[alicewritingstories]

Whumptober Prompt Fills Part 4: Talus

~~Also on AO3~~

Prompts:

No. 5: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around.” | Debris | Pinned Down | “It’s broken.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” | Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer…”

Warnings: Bombs, drifting in and out of consciousness, injury

Central character(s): Hyrule, Wild

The plan, such as it was, had been good. Things had been quiet for a few days and Wild had suggested to Time that he should take the opportunity to go foraging and that maybe Hyrule should come along too. Time hadn't been fooled for a moment, but had chuckled and said that if Wild thought it was a good idea then he agreed; they'd all meet in a couple of days at the Dueling Peaks stable. Wild and Hyrule had set out into the wide green countryside with all the excitement of exploration in their hearts, for all that Wild knew the area well. They were going to climb to the top of the Dueling Peaks, but there was no other solid plan; they would just see what they found.

They had found a talus.

An infected talus that sensed their approach from further away than Wild had expected and was far stronger and faster than it should have been.

"Wild, back!" yelled Hyrule, lighting the fuse on a bomb. He saw the flash of blue as Wild jumped off the talus' back and fled, sledgehammer in hand, then threw the bomb and ducked back behind a large rock. The explosion sent a gout of flame through the air and when Hyrule peeked out again the talus had slumped to the ground. Wild was leaping back up it. The gem deposit on its back was cracked but clearly not deeply damaged.

Hyrule swore. He only had a couple more bombs. Rock presumably wouldn't be affected by Thunder or one of his fire-based spells; he'd never asked Wild. It had to be bombs.

He needed a better angle.

He dashed for another large rock, already fishing out another bomb. He could hear the impact of sledgehammer on rock where Wild was unleashing one of his strongest spin attacks, surefooted on the moving stone under his feet.

Then he heard something else: Wild's voice ringing shrill and panicked: "'Rule!"

He looked up. The talus was drawing back one of its huge arms, ready to throw. He tried to run faster. Suddenly the rock he was aiming for looked very far away…

Something impacted his side and he cried out in shock, but realized it was Wild, leaping from the talus' back to tackle him out of the way. The debris of the talus' arm flew overhead as Hyrule rolled down the shallow slope.

As he finally managed to scrabble to a halt, he heard a horrible, ripping scream. He looked up. The talus had followed him. It was drawing back its remaining arm for another throw.

Wild was pinned under its bulk, one of its feet on his leg.

It shifted its weight to throw and Wild screamed again. The sound brought the world snapping back. Hyrule flattened himself on the ground and the arm once again flew overhead.

Every fiber of his body strained to go to Wild, but there was no point while the talus was alive. He snatched a power bracelet from his bag and slipped it on, then ran forward with his sword in one hand, snatching up Wild's dropped sledgehammer with the other. Now was a good time to find out if a fireball would hurt the talus. He begrudged the magic, but he wasn't a good enough climber or archer for another option.

He summoned a wave of magic, sending it down the blade of his sword, then swung it. The fireball seared off the end of the blade and hit the ore deposit squarely, sending the talus staggering to lie still for just long enough for Hyrule to spring up its back. He raised the sledgehammer, braced his feet, and started smashing with all the force of strength, magic, fury, and sheer desperation, gritting his teeth as shards scattered around him. The talus began to stir under him as he kept going, his muscles burning, panting for breath.

Then so suddenly it made him stumble, the deposit smashed apart. The talus dropped and dissolved into smoke in a final scatter of gemstones, sending Hyrule dropping to his hands and knees with bruising force.

There wasn't time to catch his breath; he scrambled up and half ran, half limped to Wild's side.

He'd been sure that the other teen had lost consciousness, but as he approached he saw that Wild's eyes were open, staring blankly across the rocky ground as his whole body heaved with great, sobbing gasps. He'd managed to get a potion out of his slate but it was spilled across the ground by his head, the empty bottle still clutched in his shaking hand.

Hyrule didn't even stop to speak to him; he skidded to his knees and laid his hands on Wild's shattered leg, immediately aware of the crushed bones, pooling blood, and lacerated muscles. Without proper healing Wild would never walk again.

Hyrule gritted his teeth. It wasn't the worst thing he'd had to heal.

Close, but not the worst.

Forcing himself to ignore the pain audible in every breath Wild took, he immersed himself in the magic, piecing together the scraps of bone, stopping the bleeding, patching the torn flesh.

He could feel the aching tremble in his own body that told him he was expending too much magic, but he kept going. Wild was in agony. He had to keep going.

He was starting to feel dizzy, but Wild's knee was so badly damaged that its pieces could hardly be distinguished from the rest of the broken bones. Hyrule gritted his teeth as he pulled tendons and ligaments back into place and reattached them, careful, delicate. A potion would probably do at this point, but they were rough and ready things. He could keep going a little longer.

He couldn't hear Wild's breathing any more, only the pounding of his own pulse. The tiny bones of Wild's ankle slid back into place. The fluid of the joint returned.

He felt like he was floating, only aware of the ripped holes left where stone had ground muscle on broken bone. One by one, as careful as Legend with a needle and thread, he put them back together. Good as new.

At last it was done.

It was done.

It was done…

~~~

Wild had been distantly aware of the pain fading, but his body was so filled with panic-laced adrenaline that for a moment that stretched out to an eternity he still couldn't move, trembling and weak, unable to get enough breath. He couldn't even see the sky overhead; his entire world had narrowed to the terrifying, alien wrongness of his ruined leg and the spasming, torturous pain flaying every scrap of thought from his mind.

He was only jarred back to full awareness as Hyrule collapsed into a limp heap on the ground beside him. Belatedly, he realized that the pain was completely gone. His leg was back to its proper shape.

Still, for a moment he couldn't bring himself to move it.

Get up! He needs you!

Wild looked at Hyrule lying beside him. His leg was fine. It was fine.

But just thinking about moving it made him feel sick.

Doesn't matter. He needs you. So what if it hurts? Get up!

He took another couple of deep breaths, trying to shove down the panic. He had to get up. He had to fight on. That was why he was alive. It didn't matter how much it hurt or how frightened he was; he had to fight on.

Another breath to brace himself and he shoved himself half upright.

Even though he knew his leg was healed, it was a surprise when the only pain came from his bruised back and chest.

He stayed propped up on his elbows for a moment, panting, then twisted round to check on Hyrule. The smaller hylian was limp, trembling and pale. Wild had seen him in this state once before and immediately reached for his slate even though he knew he didn't have a green potion. His heart jumped as he saw a stash of green bottles, but they were stamina elixirs; no help there. With a silent apology, he also dug in Hyrule's bag, but Hyrule didn't have one either, otherwise he presumably would have taken it rather than collapsing.

Wild looked again at his slate. Hyrule needed somewhere safe to rest. Dueling Peaks stable was right there with a shrine glowing beside it, but they were still figuring out the limits on his ability to take others with him when shrine-jumping. He didn't want to risk it with Hyrule in this condition.

Gradually, still very aware of his just-healed leg, he eased himself onto his knees beside Hyrule.

"Hyrule? Can you hear me?"

Hyrule groaned and his eyelids twitched, which was encouraging.

"OK… I'm going to carry you for a bit and then we'll head down to the stable. You'll be able to rest there."

Hyrule's eyelids twitched again. Wild took that as agreement and carefully gathered Hyrule up in his arms. He was too heavy to carry far, but Wild ignored the strain for now. He also ignored the scattered gems that he'd normally have picked up, setting off up the rocky slope towards the east. The faster he could get Hyrule to somewhere comfortable and safe, the better.

As he walked, Hyrule's trembling eased and he drifted into something that looked more like sleep. Wild let out a relieved huff of breath, trying to walk a little more steadily while still moving quickly.

By the time he reached cliffs he couldn't climb down with Hyrule in his arms, the sun was tilting to the west. He knelt down a little way from the cliff edge, laid Hyrule down, and rolled his shoulders to stretch, looking at the tall horse crest of the stable in the distance. Normally he'd think nothing of leaping off the cliff, unfurling his paraglider, and gliding down there, but he looked down at Hyrule lying propped up against his legs. He couldn't carry him and use the paraglider and he couldn't carry him and climb. He didn't want to ask any more of his brother after he'd just exhausted himself healing him, but there was only one thing for it.

"Hyrule?" He gently shook the smaller hylian's shoulder. "Can you hear me?"

He prayed Hyrule would wake up; he didn't know what he'd do if he didn't. He could probably improvise a harness of some sort and strap him to his back…

Fortunately, Hyrule stirred and his eyes drifted open.

"Hey…" Wild forced a smile at him. "Sorry to wake you."

"Wha's…"

"I need you to hold onto my back while we paraglide down this cliff."

Hyrule blinked at him vaguely, only half awake.

"That's all you have to do. Just hold on."

Hyrule nodded, his eyes drifting shut.

"Hey!" Wild shook him again. "You need to be awake. It's just a bit longer; we'll be down before you know it."

Hyrule nodded again and this time kept his eyes open, though Wild thought he was paler than before.

Wasting no more time, Wild lifted Hyrule onto his back, encouraging him to cling on with arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He could feel the tremble still there in Hyrule's limbs and wondered if he should try to strap him on after all, but decided that the important thing now was to move fast to get to the bottom of the cliff. In the time it took him to rig a harness, Hyrule might pass out again.

With a deep breath, more nervous than he'd been about a drop since the Great Plateau, he took a running jump over the edge and unfurled the paraglider.

The jerk as cloth caught air was so slight he normally never noticed it, but it was almost enough to dislodge Hyrule. For a heart-stopping moment his grip on Wild slipped, but then he managed to grab a handful of tunic and pull himself back into place. Wild took a strained breath, aware of his pulse hammering against the collar of his tunic where it was now pulled too tight.

Right. Time to lose height fast without his usual technique of free-falling and catching himself at the last moment.

"Just hold on," he said softly, partly to Hyrule and partly to himself; the additional weight was already starting to tell on him and he wished he'd taken one of the stamina elixirs. "That's all you have to do. Just hold on."

Carefully, he steered towards the stable, putting the paraglider into a shallow dive, trying to balance covering ground and avoiding any sudden jerks with making it to a safe height as soon as he could.

Hyrule was shaking with the effort of supporting his own weight. His breath against Wild's neck came quick and uneven.

Wild's overstrained arm muscles and injured back were screaming at him.

The change in his weight and balance made it hard to steer and judge his angle.

He really didn't want to re-break his leg on landing.

"Just hold on," Wild said again, keeping his voice steady and soothing with an effort, the way he'd heard Time and Warriors do. "Hold on, it'll be OK. We're almost there. Not much longer…"

He hit the ground too hard and stumbled to land face-down with Hyrule on top of him, but luckily the grass was soft and neither of them was hurt. Hyrule was conscious enough to realize they were on the ground and rolled off to land flat on his back, gasping and shaking.

"Good job," said Wild, kneeling up next to him and trying to hide his own tiredness. "Good… good job." He half-lifted Hyrule to prop him against his chest for a moment, catching his breath.

"Doesn't… count 's… first… p'ragl'dr…" mumbled Hyrule.

Wild laughed. "No, you should be properly awake for your first paraglider ride. Another time." He hugged Hyrule a little closer. "Thanks for healing me," he murmured.

Hyrule chuckled and tried vaguely to pat his shoulder, hitting him on the ear instead. "'s OK."

"You just rest. I'll get us to the stable."

"'K." Hyrule rested his head trustingly against Wild's chest, finally relaxing back into sleep. Wild licked his lips, eyed the long walk to the stable, and picked up his slate. No green potions, but he was determined that he had enough stamina elixirs to get them there.

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober 2023 Day 30

So close to finishing these prompts, just one left after this one! Hope you guys enjoy it, this one is one of my favorites! <3

Teen & Up - Gen - Merlin (TV)

Their Strength, Their Shelter

     Gwaine watched Arthur limp along the deer path they were following through the forest, frowning as Arthur again ignored Leon’s offer to help him. They had been attacked by bandits, and while their prince was the only one who sustained an injury, their horses had spooked, leaving them stranded and forced to walk back to the capital. They wouldn’t make it by nightfall, and Gwaine was relieved when Arthur called them all to make camp. His friend had been limping for hours on a bad leg, and while he’d let Merlin tend to it, he was refusing any offer of support for his injured leg.

     Gwaine watched as Merlin forced Arthur to sit down and fussed over his injury momentarily, looking frustrated when the prince sent him away to collect firewood. He shook his head, heading over to sit down next to Arthur. “He’s just worried. We all are.” He told him, taking a sip from his flask before offering it to Arthur.

     “There’s no need, I’m fine,” Arthur said, taking the flask and tipping it back for a swallow.

     Gwaine chuckled, shaking his head. “You nobles are all alike. Too proud to admit you’re not okay.” He took his flask back for a few long sips. ��I’m sure I’ll have to say it more than once for it to penetrate that thick skull of yours, but it’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’ We won’t think any less of you for it.” He glanced at Arthur and sighed as he saw his friend’s face close off. He passed the flask back to him rather than comment on it. “Drink the rest. It’ll ease the pain.”

     Arthur looked like he might refuse but then relented, taking the flask and bringing it to his lips once more. “Thanks.”

     Gwaine nodded, patting Arthur’s shoulder before taking his leave and heading to the forest to help Merlin collect the firewood.

     It was late at night when Gwaine found Arthur in the training yard, yelling in rage as he destroyed a fighting dummy. He watched in the pale moonlight for a minute as Arthur utterly demolished the sturdy wood figurine, anger and grief making every movement sloppy but powerful until he stood there, chest heaving as he stared at the fallen target. Gwaine stepped forward then, calling out to his friend. “Destroying our practice dummies won’t help.”

     Arthur whirled to face him, eyes sparking with grief, but his face set in a furious sneer.

     Gwaine spoke again before Arthur could retort. “What you need is a real challenge.” He drew his sword, lifting his chin in a clear dare for Arthur to come at him.

     And Arthur did, lunging at Gwaine and holding nothing back as they parried, dodged, and exchanged blow for blow. Gwaine goaded him on, provoking Arthur at every missed strike and letting him work out his anger. He took every hit Arthur delivered, his muscles straining as he fought to keep up with Arthur’s erratic pace. He kept up until Arthur’s attacks started growing weaker, until Arthur’s tears blinded him to the point of missing every strike, until Arthur’s hands shook so hard they couldn’t hold his sword anymore, and it fell onto the grass.

     Gwaine threw his own sword aside as Arthur fell to his knees; the prince-turned-king wracked with sobs as he doubled over and screamed hoarsely into the dirt. Gwaine knelt next to him, one hand around Arthur’s lower back and the other at his shoulder as he held him close. “That’s it, Arthur. You don’t have to be okay. Not now.”

     The knight looked up and saw Merlin standing several yards away at the edge of the yard. It was nearly impossible to see Merlin’s eyes in the low light, but Gwaine couldn’t help noticing how his best friend was drowning in guilt. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sooner than he had, Merlin turned and ran, as silent as if he’d never been there.

     Ringing in his ears brought Gwaine to, and he reached up to hold his head on as he sat up. “Merlin?” He called, looking around and wincing when his voice felt like a hammer against his head. “Arthur? Anyone?” He stumbled to his feet, looking around for his compatriots. There were a couple of men face down in the dirt, wearing the sigils of the clan that had attacked them, but his friends were nowhere to be seen.

     “Gwaine.”

     A weak call of his name had Gwaine whirling around as he hurried towards the voice, the ache in his head fading slightly from adrenaline. “Arthur! Are you okay?” He called, stumbling over the uneven ground of the forest.

     A shaky breath preceded the soft answer. “No.”

     The answer chilled Gwaine to the bone as he came upon his king. “Arthur.” He breathed upon finding the young man sitting against a rotting log with blood staining his clothes. “What happened?” He asked, kneeling beside him as he lifted Arthur’s shirt to examine the wound.

     “Got… stabbed,” Arthur said, his eyes closing for a minute before they struggled to open again. “Merlin. They took Merlin.”

     “We’ll get him back,” Gwaine promised, fastening a makeshift bandage around Arthur’s torso. “But you need medical attention first. Do you think you can stand?”

     Arthur shook his head, grimacing as he admitted, “I’m not okay.”

     “That’s alright. I’ve got you.” Gwaine promised, swallowing thickly. It was the first time Arthur had admitted such a thing to him, and while the circumstances were what brought it about, it was obvious those words cost Arthur his pride. He placed a hand under Arthur’s shoulders and another under his knees. “Alright, up we go.”

     He stood with Arthur in his arms, the king gasping in pain from the minimal movement and a little more red seeping into the bandage around him. “Stop, stop,” Arthur begged, and Gwaine stilled for a moment as Arthur got used to the new position, his face growing paler by the second until he nodded silently.

     “Let’s get you home, Princess,” Gwaine said as he walked forward, grinning when Arthur still managed to glare at him for the nickname. They walked for hours, occasionally taking short breaks for Arthur to drink some of the water from Gwaine’s half-empty canteen. As they went, Arthur got paler and paler, slipping in and out of consciousness as he started to whimper in pain.

     “It hurts,” Arthur admitted at length, voice smaller than Gwaine had ever heard from the young king. “It hurts.” He repeated, and Gwaine glanced down at him just as Arthur passed out.

     The knight cursed and walked faster, frantically searching for any sign that they were getting close. A half-hour passed before Gwaine recognized a small stream, his eyes lighting up. “We’re almost there, Arthur. Not much longer.” He informed his unconscious friend as he picked up his pace.

     When they finally reached the capital, Percival met them at the gate, carrying Arthur to Gaius as Elyan went to fetch Leon. As soon as they learned that Arthur would be okay, they wasted no time saddling their horses to ride out in search of Merlin and his captors. But as they were about to mount their horses, a commotion at the gate drew their attention. There, at the entrance, stood Merlin. Gwaine’s friend was shirtless, with some sort of symbol half-drawn, half-smeared in blood across his chest. His arms were littered with bruises, and more blood smudged his face and hands. The sight was so startling that no one moved nor said a word until Merlin spoke, his voice shaking as he asked about Arthur.

     At Gwen’s stuttered assurance that the king was okay, Merlin sobbed in relief before crumpling in on himself. His knees hit the stone floor of the courtyard hard, spurring them all into action as they rushed to the servant’s side.

     Sometime later, after Merlin had been cleaned up, Gwaine stood with him by Arthur’s bedside. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, watching Merlin closely.

     “I’m fine,” Merlin said, echoing the same phrase he had said earlier, even after being forced to explain the horrible things the cult had tried to do to him.

     Gwaine sighed, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’” He told him, watching as Merlin’s eyes flicked to his, his blue eyes haunted and wary. Gwaine shook his head fondly, ruffling Merlin’s hair. “It’s okay, Merls. You don’t have to say it now. But I’ll be here to listen when you’re ready to say it.”

     Merlin stared at him for a moment longer before nodding once, curt and stoic, before looking back at Arthur like the king would disappear if he took his eyes off him for too long.

     Gwaine stayed with them both through the night. After all, he was their Strength, and he’d be there to support them regardless of whether they were ready to admit they needed the help or not.

[musewrangler]

The girl was strong past reasoning.

Three days they’d had her. Three days as she endured and screamed and suffered.

At last, Tarkin had summoned him and ordered that Vader personally interrogate the Rebel chit.

Vader hated Tarkin with the power of Mustafar’s lava flows, but Palpatine had ordered that he work with the Grand Moff on this Force damned vanity project.

Already, he’d had to chase down the stolen plans for Tarkin only to be thwarted by this very girl. So the sooner he could get the information from her, the sooner he could return to the Devastator and continue work on his own plans for the galaxy.

He entered her cell and she struggled into a sitting position.

So small.

So defiant.

But she looked much the worse for wear—-her hair straggling from its elegant coils and her robes stained with sweat, blood, and dirt.

“It is high time, Princess,” he informed her, while she glared at him. “For you to give us the stolen plans. And I am here to discuss that.”

[catsandgoodbooks]

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer…”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dream clung to Technoblade’s arms, heaving through damaged lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Smoke clouded the air, clogging up Dream’s lungs, and he couldn’t breathe. He could barely see ten feet in front of him. 

Both of them were bleeding profusely, but still Techno staggered forwards, holding Dream in a bridal carry. An imitation of intimacy. That wasn’t what Dream had a problem with, though. That was probably the blood, and the pain, and the slow, insidious despair. (They weren't going to make it)

“Just hold on for a moment,” Techno murmured. “Not much longer…”

They were almost there. They were almost off the killing field. They were almost safe, but Dream already knew it was too late. They couldn’t keep this up. Even if Dream himself was fine, and he was pretty confident that he wouldn’t be, Techno sure wasn’t going to be.

“Please…” Dream trailed off, clutching Techno with shaking hands. His eyes were tearing up. It was the smoke. It was in his eyes and his lungs and his mind and inside him and clogging him up and he felt like he was about to suffocate, to die (and that was probably because he was going to).

“Of course,” Techno answered him softly. “You’ll be fine.” A fine stream of blood ran from one of the arrows embedded in his back. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dream scoffed, dry and hiccuping, before it soon spiraled into a coughing fit. His lungs hurt. Every part of him hurt. “We’re in the middle of a battlefield.”

“Not the middle anymore, Teletubby. We’re out of there now,” Techno informed him.

“Thanks.” Dream muttered. Blood was soaking through his bandages, old wounds ripped open and new ones added, and was dying his cloak a bright crimson, but that was the least of his concerns.

“Hold on tight,” Technoblade instructed. “We’re going down.”

With only one look back, Techno pushed forward, off of the dirt and grime and trampled soil of the warzone and onto the rough stone of the cave. “Sorry.” He carefully set Dream down and pulled out cobblestone to block up the cave entrance. Dream could breathe a little, tiny bit better now. “That should be enough for now. With any luck, they’ll think it’s just part of the mountain.”

“I don’t think we have much luck,” Dream said snidely, “just going off our track records.” He tried to wiggle back and sit up against the wall. (He ignored the way the hairs stood up on the back of his neck, the way his heart sped up and panic set in, the way he had to keep reminding himself that the walls were cobble and not obsidian) He almost succeeded. (He wondered if he had any stitches left to rip)

Techno thumped down across from him. “Luck doesn’t matter right now. You do.” Dream rolled his eyes. He ignored the way he felt his strength, his blood, leave him, leaving him drained and inches from death. If he reached his fingers forward, he could probably touch Limbo itself. “There’s no one else I’d rather be trapped in a cave with than you, Techno.”

“I’m flattered,” Techno raised one hand to cover his heart.

“And that will have to be enough.”

And they both knew that they were going to die, but they didn’t care. They couldn’t do anything about it, and every life ended in a funeral, not a wedding. They were together, and that was enough.

[jianghushenanigans]

Whumptober Day 30: Bridal Carry | "Not much longer..."

It’s been getting harder to keep going. The Divine Healer had told Xiao Se that he only had a year if they couldn’t reach Penglai Island, but he had never really… he had thought, if he had thought about it all, that he would be as fine as he has ever been during the past three years, and then suddenly deteriorate at the end.

Instead the deterioration has been much more gradual. Much more painful in its slow development, he thinks. At least if the pain, the aches, the exhaustion, had come all at once, they would have disappeared again almost as fast.

And there are months left to go before he reaches his year deadline.

It takes him twice as long as it should to get up and about, in the morning. He blames it on the rocking of the boat, his voice sharper than he intended, the one time Lei Wujie makes what he probably intended to be a lighthearted comment on the subject, and no one ever brings it up again.

Just like no one mentions how his hand trembles, slightly, when it is out in the cold air rather than tucked away in the sleeves of his expensive coat. Just like no one mentions how tightly he grips the rail of the boat as he stares into the horizon, looking and searching and waiting for something, anything, to appear.

No one mentions anything until his traitorous body decides to stop giving him the option to pretend it’s not happening.

He’s been up on the deck for too long, he know he has. The spray and the wind have been seeping into his bones despite his coat, despite the sun, his joints aching with it as though he is several decades older. He doesn’t want to go inside, not while his… his friends are out here, enjoying the sunshine and laughing together.

So he waits longer than he should, and then a little longer after that, before he finally decides that no, that’s enough, that’s too much.

He takes a step. Another step. The third doesn’t quite… He falls in what feels like slow motion. He hits the deck in what feels like an instant.

He doesn’t move. He’s not sure if he doesn’t want to move, or if he can’t move. All he can bring himself to do is fling an arm across his eyes, blocking out the sun that suddenly feels like it’s scorching him. Blocking out the way that everyone must be staring at him. Him, the famous Prince Yong’an, Xiao Chuhe, his father’s favourite son. Him, the so-called disciple of the spear deity. Him, whose body is fighting against him, who can’t even walk across the deck.

How is supposed to make it to Penglai Island? How is he supposed to do anything?

Someone kneels beside him. He doesn’t move his arm.

“Xiao Se.” It’s Tang Lian. Da-shixiong, if Xiao Se even deserves to be called anyone’s martial sibling, pathetic as he is. “Can you move?”

He takes stock, properly this time. He feels like he’s been thrown from a horse. “No,” he croaks. He sounds like he’s been crying. Has he been crying?

“Can I move you?” Tang Lian’s voice is soft.

Xiao Se just shrugs, as much as he can. He doesn’t particularly want to lie here, wood at his back, in full view of anyone and everyone and the sky itself.

His arm falls away as he is suddenly lifted, one arm supporting his back and the other his knees, as if he weighs nothing at all. He turns his head into da-shixiong’s shoulder instead, wanting even less to see everyone watch him be carried.

“It’ll be alright, shidi. It’s not much longer until we get there. Just rest. You’ll be alright.”

Crossposted here on ao3

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 30

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Hummingbird 30

It's really only getting much darker now. Please watch yourselves. There is and will be emotional whump, despair, self-doubt, self-inflicted wounds, suicide attempt and gore.

Story starts here / previous

...

The externally inflicted stupor of drugs lasted another day. Apparently Sam was sobbing and pleading enough between unnerving nightmeres and restless foggy hours floating inbetween, to convince Grey-Monty to take him off the medication.

Sam was like a ghost. It wasn't much of a difference from his drug-induced-zombie-like state from the time before. He was numb, not from intoxication this time, but from some part of him just missing, never to come back.

Grey escorted him from here to there like an invalid. Sam didn't touch his food or did hardly anything else than lay or sit in bed and stare into nothingness.

His mind was hazy from lack of emotion, but he was kind of able to think a bit for himself. At least it felt like it, in comparision to the chemicals blocking every spark of his own free will. Despite his escort to untouched meals Grey didn't pay too much attention what Sam was actually doing, beyond trying to do anything more than stay in bed. It wasn't that he wasn't concerned or didn't care, but he had the feeling, that the kid needed a bit to swallow the shock of his revelation and get back his bearings. Despite his better judgement, he left him some space and didn't motherhen him, like he inwardly wanted to.

So Grey didn't recognise Sam taking the filetknife from the kitchendrawer. The kitchen was usually off limits, even if Grey didn't believe Sam was still capable of attacking him. Apparently not after being drugged out of his mind all the time. But nevertheless Sam managed his way in, taking that knife, while drawing Grey's attention by overexaggered confusion and another mental breakdown.

The former pedriatrist tried to get through to his broken toy, using platitudes like. "It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’." But what did he know. Sam wasn't talking anymore. He was about to go down the deep end. He had no desire to fight or flee, not in a physical way anyway.

Or maybe, he had. A specific statement replayed itself in his empty head now and again. The result of his coming actions would bring him freedom, hopefully. In one way or the other.

'By heart surgery and blood transfusion I have to pass.' Grey had admitted. 'Good!'

So he would be brought to a real hospital and get a chance to be saved or he would just die here. Either way he would be free from this psycho, this living nightmere, this life and of all, himself.

The knife was sharp. He picked this particular one for its sharpness. Sam was still afraid of the estimated pain, consciously cutting through layers of skin and flesh at his thin wrists, would inflict. The knife had to be sharp, so he wouldn't stop, what he was about to do. This was the only way.

Sam was sitting in "his" bed, preparing himself to do, what he felt to be his only possible escape. But he doubted, that he was actually able to really reach a point, where he could feel any kind of prepared for this.

Cool metal touched warm skin.

Hesitantly, he pushed. Nothing happened. Suddenly a red line was drawn just under the sharp edge of the blade. He pushed harder, the line go thicker.

Then the pain came. Blunt, strong, breathtaking. He pulled the knife upwards, still pushing the blade inside his flesh, feeling hot sticky liquid traveling down his forearm, curling around his wrist, seeping through his fingers, while he cut himself open. The pain developed into something sharp directly under the metal penetrating his skin. Where the vene was finally layed bare, it started to throb in the rhythym of his heartbeat.

In the middle of his left forearm Sam removed the knife. Mesmerised he watched his liveforce leaving him. He hadn't thought it would happen so fast. His breath hitched, he was breathing too hectically. He was cold already. The distinct paleness of his right hand still holding the knife in comparision to the red crimson running down his left, was fazinating.

He wanted to exchange his hands, but the knife just trembled from his weak slippery left, the bandaged palm still injured. It fell into the already formed stain of his blood on the sheeting. 'Damn, he should have thought about that earlier.' He was not a lefty and with his hand already cut, he should have started with his other arm.

But by the amount of blood freely pumped out of him with every beat of his heart, it would probably be enough.

His breath came in pfuffs, he tried to calm down. It was in vain.

A headache settled in. Sam could feel his heart actually beating inside his neck and in his opened venes of his arm. It felt so warm, while a chill settled itself inside the rest of his body.

He felt tired all of a sudden and layed back. His left leg was sticky, the fabrik of his shirt was soaked fast, sticking to the small of his back.

His eyes went to the window above and he looked at passing clouds upside down. It was soothing to watch the world go by. It would still be turning, when he had stopped breathing. Maybe that was his biggest problem. The world always kept on turning, no matter what happened to him. That was the damn issue, him never being able to keep up (afterwards). He had tried a shortcut, the time with Peter. But something else happened and he was still paddling on the same spot, while everybody else moved on. There are no shortcut to foul destany or yourself.

But maybe, that was kind of a reassuring thought. His death wouldn't so much as even make a dent in the course of this world.

Sam felt clammy and cold. His breathing had conciderably slowed down. He wanted to move his left hand, it felt so thick and numb, but his fingers wouldn't obay his command anymore.

'Not much longer.' He whispered to himself, but it was only a silent plea for it to be over soon. His pale lips wouldn't part anymore. His body felt heavy. This all consuming heaviness, he had felt so often since being here. Yet his mind felt light, the lingering certainty, that he finally would be free of his burdon, he called his life.

His eyes blinked tiredly, refusing to close for good. But he wasn't fighting anymore.

He was just done fighting.

Inwardly Sam never believed his own additional explanation of being brought to a hospital and flee. He kind of knew, it would end this way. He kind of knew, it was supposed to be this way.

A last glimpse through a break in the clouds. Clear blue sky. One last blink and his eyes finally closed. This was a good day to die.

×

Only very shallow, but Sam was still breathing, when Grey pressed his slack form into a bridal carry against his own chest and made long brisk steps into the ER.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive

[mrmustachious]

Forest Fire

Summary: A careless act leads to something disastrous.

Day(s): 10, 17, 24, 30, 31

Prompt(s): Stranded, “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”, “I thought they were with you.”, Bridal Carry, “Not much longer...”, “Take it easy.”

Amy rubbed her hands together over the fire as she shivered.

"Ugh, it's so cold," she moaned.

"Should have brought a jacket," Sierra teased as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. She didn't appear cold in the slightest, and Amy glared at her.

"I didn't know we were going to come out to the woods when I left my house this morning. I thought we were going to the mall."

When her friends had called her that morning saying they had an idea to hang out today, this was the last thing on her mind.

"C'mon, it's fun!" Callum said from where he was crouched next to the fire pit. He was throwing on a few more sticks as the fire grew. "I made a fire."

"It's still cold." She was so close to just heading home.

"I have something that will warm you up." Sierra reached into her backpack and pulled out a can, which she handed over to Amy.

When she saw what it was, her eyes widened.

"How did you get this?"

"Stole it from my brother," Sierra shrugged. "I got a whole six pack."

"Hey, pass me one." Callum held a hand up, and Sierra tossed the can over the fire.

Read on AO3

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Part 4 of 5 today...

Sierra’s phone buzzes, jumping lightly against the concrete floor. She reaches for it and swipes a blood-crusted finger across the screen. “Yeah, Pete?”

Shay doesn’t like the sound of her voice.

“We’re here, but medical is having some trouble figuring out how to get to you. The windows on the first and second floor are all secured with bars, and there’s a car halfway inside the first floor entrance.”

“Oh. Yeah. I might have…uh…driven my car through a door.”

Shay shakes his head. “Might have, huh?”

“I’ve never been one for subtle entrances. And at least then I knew where her attention was going to be.” 

“Fire escape?” Shay asks.

“Bottom part’s missing, this place has been abandoned for a long time,” Pete says. “We’ll try and get the bars off the windows, but it’s going to take some time.”

Time she doesn’t have. Shay’s been forcing his instincts back for the better part of half an hour, forcing back the hunger surging at the sight of blood, but he can feel how much Sierra’s lost and how fast she’s still losing it. By the time they get through the defenses on this place…

He looks from the phone to her, and sees the same awareness in her eyes.

“They can’t get to us. Not in time. So we’re gonna have to get you to them.” 

She nods. 

He turns back to the phone. “We’re coming to you. Meet us at the bottom of the fire escape.” 

Sierra hangs up the call, then looks up at him. “Give me my wrist cuff.”

“Huh?”

“Something to bite down on. Or I’m going to scream.” He nods, helping unfasten the buckled strap of leather that protects the veins in her lower arms during a hunt, and sets it between her jaws. He doesn’t like what it means that her own fingers were too uncoordinated to work the buckles.

“Ready?”

She nods, and he can practically hear her. As I’ll ever be.

He slides his arms under her, and she chokes back a shout of what’s probably a mixture of shock and pain as he lifts her, practically effortlessly. 

Vampires can’t actually fly. But they can scale sheer walls. 

He shoves the fire escape window open and maneuvers both of them out onto the landing. They’re on the third floor, and he can see that about half a floor down there’s just…nothing. Apparently, the metal on the fire escape was easier to make off with than the window bars.

“Okay, I’m going to try not to make this worse but I’m gonna need my hands,” he says, quietly. “Put your arms around my neck.” 

She does, and he latches claws into the crumbling brick and begins climbing down.

He can hear Sierra hissing and gasping softly practically in his ear, and at one point muttering, “this sucks” around the leather in her mouth, but he can’t stop.

“Not much farther now, okay?” He says. He can see the medical team with their gurney, and a very distressed-looking Pete, below them. 

She nods, her hair brushing against his chin with the movement.

True to his word, he’s laying her back on the gurney a minute later, and the medical team swarms her, pulling her away from him. He wants to follow, but he knows he’ll only be in the way.

A hand comes up close to his arm, and he startles slightly. Pete.

“They’re gonna take good care of her. They’re doing their best.” It sounds like he’s reassuring himself as much as he is Shay.

Shay just nods, watching the ambulance pull away screaming, and noticing the rear half of a silver car visible in what used to be a doorway. Damn, she wasn’t kidding.

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @whumptober

[lizzyverydizzyyo]

D.E.A.N | Chapter 30 - Peak

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

Wordcount: ± 8086 [Also very action-heavy, so I can’t cut it into two chapters]

TW: Suicide Pact, Suicidal Ideation, Depression, Dread, Minor Character Deaths (antagonist), Blood, Injury, Weapon, Gun, Firearms, Shooting, Drugs, Graphic Depiction of Violence, Gore, Explosion, Medical Instruments and Treatments

He can sense it’s nearly over, although he doesn’t know on whose favor fate will fall into: his side or the enemies’. All who remain are now left to lick their wounds pitifully, wondering if they’ll ever get back to the way it was. Mark tells himself that, at least, ones dear to his heart are still breathing on this God’s green earth.

Whumptober 2023 Themes (last 4 and Alt. Bonus only):

Day Alt. bonus — Aftermath of Failure

Day 28 — “You'll have to go through me.”

Day 29 — Troubled Past Resurfacing

Day 30 — Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Day 31 — Emptiness | Setbacks

Whumptober 2022 Themes (post-event, not completionist):

Day 11 Alt. — Ambushed

Day 24 — Fight, Flight or Freeze | Blood Covered Hands

Day 26 — No One Left Behind | Separated

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

——

Once they’re in the open, they whip their heads left and right, trying to figure out which vehicle Angie and Doctor Lowe are near to. There are two vans: one on the far side of the left, and the other on their right but close. It’s probably not helping that everything is dark.

He didn’t realize how late it is. No wonder many sections of the headquarter looked dark before. What time is it anyway?

Suddenly, they see Angie’s head poking from behind the van on their right. Her arm follows, showing up from the other side of the van to wave to them.

“Angie!” Mark calls out happily, although he still makes sure he keeps quiet.

Anna and Mark sprint to close the distance.

He doesn’t know about Anna, but he feels warmth washing over him with his heart feeling a little lighter. Like giant boulders are lifted off his shoulders. Like hope.

“How did you get here? How did the bomb go?” Anna blurts out quickly.

“Long story. I survived. That’s all that matters.”

“Okay. True,” Anna replies.

Mark gives himself a few seconds to scan Angie and Doctor Lowe quickly, seeing some cuts and bruises here and there, and scratches on their clothes, but they’re alive and well and standing firmly. They’re all okay. Mostly.

Across him, Angie throws a slight look towards Nick in Mark’s arms, one arm lolling on the side and dangling weakly. Nick is quiet and not moving, his head laid against Mark’s chest, but his own chest still rises and falls. Angie stares at the bloody palm of Nick that’s hanging down. She doesn’t point it out.

Which is probably for the best because they can’t afford to panic and spread the anxiety towards each other. They need to be steady and quick now.

“Get in,” Doctor Lowe tersely instructs Mark while Angie walks towards the back of the van to open the doors. It’s not locked.

Mark frowns while looking at the van, pausing a few steps away. He scans their surroundings and sees no one else beside 5 of them.

“What?” the surgeon turns around to him exasperatedly.

“Is this safe?” he asks. “Did any Helga people get to it?”

“It’s fine. I’ve been here all the time we were separated,” Angie says urgently to Mark. “The agents in charge of guarding the backyard just left for the inside not too long ago, so the vehicles were still protected from any sabotaging.”

Mark contemplates for a few seconds, but ends up closing his eyes and sighing as he accepts Angie’s explanation, so he steps forwards to approach the van.

“The keys?” Angie asks him.

Mark faces her fully to give her better access to Nick’s pockets on his utility belt. Nick stays still, eerily silent. He doesn’t react at all to Angie rummaging her hand through his many pockets until she gets to the one with the handful of metal keys.

“Okay, good, lay him down there,” Doctor Lowe instructs him once Angie has the keys in her palm. The surgeon points to the far side of the van’s interior.

Mark bends down his body a little so that he can fit into the back of the van as he steps into it. He climbs into the van’s inside while crouching, still with Nick in his arms, but when both of his feet are firmly on the floor of the van and he is pretty much squatting, he starts shifting his legs one knee at a time to kneel. He shuffles that way a bit until he reaches the divider between the back of the van and the driver section so that he can deposit Nikolai on the floor.

Nick is still unmoving with face leaning against Mark’s chest and one arm lolling around, even until he gently lays Nick down.

“No, no. Sit him up a bit. His legs can’t be higher than the rest of his body,” the surgeon interjects, pulling on Mark’s arm a bit to stop his movement.

Nick finally makes a sound by groaning weakly when Mark tries to pull his body up into sitting position, while Doctor Lowe pulls his legs straight from slightly bent position. It seems to be very important that Nick’s legs are lower than his torso as he is bleeding like this, as said by Angie too before the first surgery.

Once they’re settled inside, Doctor Lowe turns back to pull the doors in and slam them closed. Only then does Mark take off his helmet and put it away. He takes off Nick’s helmet next to see his face and gauge how he is doing.

Nick’s eyes are half-lidded, blinking sluggishly once in a while. He looks extremely pale with cold sweat drenching his body and wetting his hair. Even his skin is cold to touch.

“Kid, just last a little bit more, okay?” Doctor Lowe now says as he crouches to sit next to Nick across from Mark, both facing the weakened boy. The old face uncharacteristically shows strong emotions and non-clinical concern, for once.

Nick’s thin hands are on top of his own abdomen, but they’re not really pushing on his wound strongly, probably because his energy is completely depleted. Mark kneels on one knee in front of him as he puts his own palm on top of Nick’s to push at it firmly.

Nick winces and weakly shifts his head to the side.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. We need to put pressure on your bleeding,” he tells Nick softly.

Nick turns his head forward again to look at him, face seemingly half-conscious. His breathing is labored and dragging, and when Mark takes Nick’s left wrist to feel his pulse, it’s faint but abnormally rapid.

“Why the fuck are we not driving yet?”

He sees Doctor Lowe raising his head to look over Nick’s head towards the divider, his face urgent with a somewhat angry look. He has never been a patient man in all the time Mark has known him, after all.

“Hey,” the doctor calls out again, “what are you waiting for?!”

He bangs on the divider, making Nick wince and moan in pain again. Mark glares slightly at the surgeon, but the man doesn’t seem to care.

“We’re looking for the key!” they both hear Angie’s muffled voice.

“Do it fucking faster!”

Even with the divider, Mark can hear Angie and Anna frantically mumbling with each other, “Where the fuck is the key? Is it this? No, that doesn’t fit, fuck! I don’t know which one? Did they not say which key is for which car! Oh my god…” with metal jiggling.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious, you dumb bitches? Go now!” Doctor Lowe yells out incredulously.

“We’re trying, okay?!” follows with more metal clanking from both women in the front.

“For fuck’s sake, just cut the cord and start with it!” Mark now screams in turn in frustration.

“Are you fucking serious? No! It’ll just destroy the car!” Angie responds from the front.

Nick shifts his head to the side again, weakly gasping with eyes barely open.

“Angie! Anna! Come on!” Mark yells again after looking at that.

He hears more metal jiggling and hissed arguments from the front, and he is about ready to get out and sort the problem out himself, but then he hears the van sputtering then humming to life.

“Gotcha!” he finally hears from Angie.

Mark and Doctor Lowe unconsciously exhale in relief and sag their bodies at the same time. He can even hear Nick exhaling weakly too.

He turns to Nick again with a tight smile, trying to be calming and reassuring.

“This is it. We just have to reach backup team and it’ll be over. You’ll be okay there,” he says softly.

Nick simply looks back at him, seemingly fighting against his exhaustion so that he can keep his eyes open. He winces a bit before blinking weakly, then his eyes stay half-lidded until they all can feel the motion of the car starting to be driven away.

Of course, in ideal situation, it’s better to drive slowly and carefully so that Nick isn’t jolted around while bleeding like this, but there are still dozens of Helga people they’re trying to run from in here, and possibly even more who are still trying to reach this headquarter. They don’t have any other choice but to accept Angie hitting the gas and speeding up along their path until they reach Central Hub’s backup team.

Doctor Lowe and Mark have just taken off their guns and put them on the floor when they simultaneously push at Nick’s shoulders instinctively. He is whipped from side to side at a sharp turn Angie is taking, so they’re making sure Nick isn’t knocked around—especially on the head—and injured more.

“Argh…” Nick immediately yelps in pain at the sudden movement.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry,” he soothes Nick.

He can see tears flowing from the corners of Nick’s swirly blue-brown eyes as they’re squeezed shut. In turn, Mark squeezes Nick’s shoulder a little to calm him down. Eventually, the van is going at a more even pace with less bouncing as it seemingly settles on an established road.

“You keep pushing on his wound. I’ll try to connect to backup,” Doctor Lowe eventually instructs him.

He simply nods and sits down with crossed legs so that he is in a more comfortable position to hold Nick. His own right shoulder is leaning against the divider as he keeps his left palm’s pressure at Nick’s abdomen. Mark sees Doctor Lowe sit on his heels while clicking on his watch for a while.

The old surgeon tsks.

“The reach is too short with this,” he comments.

“Well, yeah. It’s for a contained network. It’s not meant to be far,” he responds.

“It would be nice if it can. I was hoping its reach is far enough considering we don’t have any of our heavy-duty laptops.”

“There is our satellite map on the dashboard, isn’t there?” he inquires.

“For them,” the surgeon nods his chin to the front to refer to Angie and Anna, “but not us. We can’t see where we are from here. Can’t prepare.”

Oh, that makes sense.

“I guess we should just keep our comms open to connect to backup’s network.”

“I’d rather not do that for too long. We can be intercepted. There are only 5 of us here,” the old man informs him, finally clicking the button on the earpiece itself, seemingly disconnecting from 1034’s headquarter’s network.

Mark too ends up clicking on his earpiece to disconnect it.

There is no point in connecting to 1034’s headquarter anymore since they’re leaving that place and won’t need to communicate with any of them. He knows they’re not going to send more chaperone agents for Nick because there simply are just not enough agents to fight Helga in the headquarter itself.

It’s better to make sure their connection isn’t intruded on by any non-authorized party by turning it off completely.

He almost falls asleep due to his extreme exhaustion and lulling silence for a while when Doctor Lowe suddenly talks to him.

“Shift him a little,” Doctor Lowe instructs Mark.

He furrows his eyebrows.

“I need to see behind us,” the doctor explains, pointing at the screen on the divider that’s supposed to show the back of the van through the small camera on the door.

“Oh.”

Mark gently slips his right arm between Nick’s back and the divider to circle Nick’s body from behind, pulling him closer almost to an embrace until Nick’s head is lying on Mark’s right shoulder instead of covering the screen.

He doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture until Doctor Lowe stares at him for a few seconds.

He is about to push Nick away a little bit to minimize the too-personal sense of their position, but when he sees Nick’s closed eyes on the pale exhausted face, he just doesn’t have the heart to do it. Who’s going to have a problem with it anyway?

Doctor Lowe ends up shaking his head and rising to kneel so that he can get closer to the screen and turns it on.

It crackles a bit before he sees the screen coming to life. Not that it’s going to help in telling them where they are, especially since it’s dark outside, except just to see if their environment is safe.

For quite a while, all they do is just glance at the screen every so often while mostly ignoring it in favor of laying back and closing their eyes to get a little bit of rest. They’re not really expecting anything noteworthy to happen, but he hears a bang on the divider from the front.

He and Doctor Lowe furrow their eyebrows and look at each other.

“Look at your watch! What colors are they?” he hears Anna inquire.

“What? What color? What are you talking about?” he shouts back with a perplexed expression.

“There are incomings shown in our satellite map. Are they our guys?”

He immediately straightens up his back with an alert look, just as Doctor Lowe does. They whip their heads to look at the screen.

It’s not obvious in the beginning, but he can see some dots following them from behind that are getting closer and closer and eventually appearing like several vehicles that are not D.E.A.N issued.

Oh, fuck.

He looks at his watch over Nick’s head and shoulder who is still leaning against his chest, clicking a button on the side to turn it on again.

They’re all brown pulsating dots following from behind.

“Oh, shit,” Doctor Lowe whispers horrifically.

“Nick, Nicky, get off, I need to move,” he says to Nikolai, trying to be gentle even if he is about to lose his shit.

Nick flutters his eyes open and winces, seemingly having fallen asleep before.

He hates being rough with Nick, but he has to quickly shift Nick’s body away from him so that he can move to grab his rifle again.

Doctor Lowe is kneeling while slamming the seat covers up, seeing what’s inside their under-seat storage. He frantically grabs all manners of firearm cartridges, from long rifle ammo clips to boxes of handgun bullets from the inside. Mark can see that besides those, there are explosives too like grenades and some smoke bombs.

There are also different kinds of rifles there, seemingly more of a sniper rifle type, along with some rifle tripod mounts.

Sniper rifle be damned. He’ll use them when he has to. Bullet is a bullet once it’s in someone’s skull.

“Wha…” Nick mumbles with half-lidded eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says distractedly as he starts reloading several magazines worth of bullets for his pistols, then inserting a long ammo clip into the chamber of his rifle along with Doctor Lowe.

Not long after, they immediately hear shots hitting the back of their van.

Shit. He thought they’re out of the woods already.

Doctor Lowe frantically rummages through the storages again, muttering furiously to himself.

“Doc, you got bullets. What are you looking for?” Mark asks in frustration.

“I need sticky tapes for the rifle mounts.”

“What?!”

Doctor Lowe sits on his heels again while turning towards him.

“I’m not Addrianne or Mary who can probably shoot the fucking moon without rifle mount, all right? I need a steady mount.”

“Just shoot with your machine guns!”

“You do it! I’ll find some tape.”

Mark tsks incredulously, but he does grab his helmet to put it back on before pushing open the hatch on top of their van. He takes a slight look at the screen to get a feel of what kind of enemies they’re dealing with before popping his head up with his machine gun pointed to the back.

There are 5 jeeps following them.

“How the fuck did they know about us?!”

Mark ignores Doctor Lowe’s question to start pressing his rifle trigger, followed by resounding shots and strong recoils that hit him much harder than usual with his current shooting position. He mostly hits the windows and non-vital parts of the enemies he can see.

When he pauses a bit, he observes them and finds that they all look fresh and battle ready, maybe even more combat-trained than the ones swarming 1034 before. There are women there too, ones who look as military-trained as the rest.

He absently thinks about Doctor Lowe’s question.

He doesn’t like the thought that maybe there was a planned breach of information about their strategy. These enemies look especially prepared for this kind of battle, while the ones in 1034 look more like low level thugs of the syndicate who just happen to be given firearms.

He bows down his head under the hatch when the other side returns the shots, waiting until they stop so that he can shoot again. On his left a little bit behind him, he hears shotgun shots and cocking from Anna who is poking her head out of the window to shoot with him.

He feels their van swerving to the left sharply, feeling himself knocked to the side and hit hard on the chest by the metal opening of the hatch.

“Fucking hell, Angie!”

“I’m avoiding their shots!”

He breathes hard as he steadies himself, pointing his machine gun again to shoot mostly at the driver of the jeep closest to them.

They seem to know his plan, so that jeep also swerves to the side to avoid his shots.

“Move!” Doctor Lowe yells at him from under.

Mark looks down to the inside of the van and sees Doctor Lowe holding a short rifle tripod mount, presumably with sticky tape on the bottom of the feet.

He pulls himself down to allow Doctor Lowe to stick the mount to the top of their van, using the opportunity to pull another long ammo clip to be slung over his shoulder as preparation before the current one runs out.

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to install that!” he half-shouts.

“Shut the fuck up. I told you I’m not a sniper. I’m just doing what I can,” Doctor Lowe shouts with voice half-muffled by the windy surrounding. “Now give me that rifle!”

Mark looks down on the ground to see the different kind of rifle usually used for precision shooting. He simply grabs that and follows the surgeon’s instruction.

Unlike their automatic machine guns which can shoot endlessly as long as they keep pressing the trigger and have ammo clips attached, the rifle Doctor Lowe is using right now is semi-automatic. It requires him to pull the trigger each time he wants to take a shot, although he doesn’t have to keep reloading each time.

Mark kneels on one knee with his own rifle strap slung over his shoulder again, both of his arms holding the gun itself, while he faces Nick.

The younger man’s face is alert and scared, no longer has any trace of sleepiness as before. Mark’s heart clenches at the deep fear shown on that bony and pale face, undoubtedly in pain too at the sudden movements Angie keeps making.

Nick is holding the sides of the opened seats for dear life.

“What’s going on, Mark?” he asks shakily as he starts crying again.

“It’s fine. We’ll deal with it,” he softly says, once again saying it both for Nick and himself.

Eventually, Doctor Lowe removes his rifle from the mount and pops back down to gather more ammos and fill the chamber with them once again. Mark uses this opportunity to pop back out, and he starts shooting again.

He aims lower this time, trying to point at the wheels.

Their van swerves to the side once again, so he groans as the corners of the opened hatch hit him on the chest again.

“Argh!”

“Sorry!” Angie simply shouts.

He starts shooting again once he is sure Angie is done with her swerving. He hits one person, and he can see the man’s body flopping to the side and bowing forward. The driver next to him doesn’t flinch or look away from the road despite having her comrade shot to death next to her.

Mark starts pointing his gun at another jeep now, going for the passenger shooter again. He only manages to shoot the person’s shoulder, but that’s good enough. She’s not going to be able to shoot properly like that.

He pulls back, going down into the van again to take a break from the harsh recoils and avoid the shots from the other side, so Doctor Lowe rises again with his semi-automatic rifle after reloading it.

Doctor Lowe focuses on the scope, taking a shot more carefully and slowly. Mark can only guess what’s happening. The only way the people in the back of the van can see what’s behind is by looking at the screen, but that has a limited view.

He hears another shot from Doctor Lowe, followed by loud crashing, but before he can catch what’s happening, there is another bang to the back of the van, so now the screen crackles then goes black.

Oh, great. Fantastic. As if they weren’t already stuck and cornered before.

Even so, Doctor Lowe lowers himself again, gathering ammos to be inserted into the rifle chamber again.

“Your turn,” he tightly says as he keeps focusing on inserting some ammo clips.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Got one of their drivers.”

He furrows his eyebrows as he thinks about what Doctor Lowe means until he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

The driver shot by Doctor Lowe either got injured enough that they can’t steer the vehicle well anymore, or killed so the jeep swerved around uncontrollably until it hit another one.

Basically, taking two enemies’ vehicles at once.

Not like Addrianne, my ass, Mark thinks.

“Your turn, Hayden!” Doctor Lowe yells at him.

He immediately jumps up over the hatch to point his gun again.

As he guessed before, there are now only three jeeps still following them, while the other two are falling behind so far in the back. Still, that doesn’t mean they can’t change drivers and start chasing his team again. He doesn’t know if their jeeps’ engines are damaged enough to stop them completely.

He squints his eyes at the recoil of his rifles, still not used to how harsh and painful it is while being shot this way, but he keeps going. He quickly pulls the end of the other long ammo clip to start inserting it into his machine gun’s chamber. He cocks it after it’s inserted and starts shooting again.

He got two, but only some back passenger shooters, not any driver like what he aimed for.

“Here,” Mark hears Doctor Lowe call to him.

He pops in a little only to see the surgeon handing him a smoke bomb. He would prefer the grenade, but they’re still too close to throw it safely, so he accepts the smoke bomb anyway.

He pulls away the pin with his teeth and throws it far into one of the jeeps’ open roof. There is clanking and harsh hissing before smoke quickly seeps out of the can and fills the jeep. The jeep swerves wildly to the side after that and gets left behind.

Two more to go.

He starts shooting again for a while until his ammo runs out.

He only manages to simply graze the remaining chasers instead of causing substantial damage to his enemies. Behind the two jeeps, he starts to see the jeep left behind after the smoke bomb, and it’s gaining on them. He also sees another one, which is one of the two crashing jeeps that Doctor Lowe shot before.

Oh, fuck. It’s going up to four again, then.

Doctor Lowe and Mark keep taking turn shooting either with machine guns or sniping rifles, or even a shotgun they find after rummaging through the under-seat storage more carefully. Once the ammos for those run out, they take out their pistols, which are not ideal because they’re not as strong as machine guns or as precise as sniping rifles, but better than not fighting back at all.

He can feel his worry and panic starting to rise again each time he pops back down and sees more and more empty bullet boxes and used clips.

“Hey kid, you need to hold on really tight on this seat, okay?” Doctor Lowe cryptically tells Nick as he points at the jutting metal under the opened seat.

He doesn’t understand why Doctor Lowe is saying that considering Nick is already holding onto the seat so tightly.

Nick is no longer pushing down on his abdomen and seemingly hasn't been for a while, which means he’s been bleeding more than they would have liked compared to if he’d been pushing at his wound. He’s getting even paler, grimacing more often after every swerving and jolting from the speed of Angie’s driving.

He faces where Doctor Lowe is pointing.

“Wha… about—”

“It’s okay. Mark is gonna help you with your bleeding,” the surgeon cuts him off, instantly knowing what Nick means.

Doctor Lowe cocks his head to the side to point at Nick. Mark gives a questioning stare for a bit, but obeys the surgeon’s command.

“You hold on tight too,” the old man says cryptically again, but doesn’t wait for Mark to comply before popping out of the hatch.

Mark simply kneels down facing Nick with one hand pushing at the wounded abdomen and another gripping a handgrip tightly as the doctor tells him to.

He’s not sure what the surgeon is planning until he hears loud boom and a sense of this van almost being flipped over, roughly knocking him over to the floor. Thankfully, he pulls his left arm from Nick’s stomach quickly enough to throw it above his head so that it’s cushioned against the metal body of the under-seat storages.

Still, the force of it brings sharp pain to his forearm that can’t help screaming in pain. He feels like he has broken the bone in his forearm, or at least given it some deep musculature damage.

Nick thankfully gets thrown into his arm too, so his head isn’t knocked around too at the harsh bump the van was put through.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Doc?” he cries out angrily.

The doctor simply pops back down to bend down and grabs an item.

“We have no bullets,” he tightly says without a care towards Mark’s offense.

“And you didn’t think to warn us before throwing a fucking grenade?”

“I did.”

The surgeon knocks at the divider twice before popping his head back out while gripping another grenade.

This time, Mark is more ready.

He elongates his legs to tightly push against the under-seat storages on both sides. He pushes feet against the left under-seat while his lower back is pushed against the right one. Being tall has its perks, it seems.

One of his hands is holding onto a handgrip attached to the divider while his other hand is putting Nick almost in an embrace again. Nick too is holding on to a handgrip on the other side of the divider, while his other hand is pushing at his stomach.

He hears another kaboom and feels the van jolts around roughly, but without throwing his body around since he has good enough grip on his surroundings. It happens three more times, each time adding more and more aches onto his body due to the rough jolting, on top of his muscles being forcibly and endlessly taut.

Nick too keeps keening in pain, fisting Mark’s shirt desperately while leaning over and sobbing.

After the third explosion, Doctor Lowe bends down to frantically crawl all over the floor, repeatedly slamming the seat covering of the storage loudly. He keeps mumbling to himself like he is possessed, until he eventually reaches the one closest to Mark and Nick near the divider.

“Move over,” the surgeon tightly orders him.

Mark has to bodily carry Nick in his arms to move him away so that Doctor Lowe can turn that storage upside down too.

They wince when they feel harsh shots at the back of their van, now being dented by the repeated firings of strong firearms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Nick’s half-lidded eyes land on the surgeon’s back.

“Wha… what’s—what’s going… on?” Nick stutters weakly.

Doctor Lowe’s shoulders slump again, giving Mark another jolt of fear. It’s never good when the surgeon slumps like that. The beer-bellied man then weakly sits on his heels with his head leaned back while exhaling shudderingly.

They hear more shots, and the dents get deeper.

The doctor still doesn’t face Nick or Mark, and instead bangs on the divider.

“Anna! Why aren’t you shooting?!”

Mark can feel his heart thumping on his chest painfully, faster and faster the longer it takes for Anna to reply.

“There is no more bullet,” they all hear Anna shout with her own resigned voice.

“Try to find more! Under Angie’s seat or something!” Doctor Lowe tries again.

“We tried, Doc. We can’t find more!”

Just as she is done talking, they hear more bullets shot in their way with clanging sound. Mark realizes that one manages to lodge itself into the door of the van.

He feels cold washing over him.

Nick shudders in his arms, and Doctor Low stares helplessly at that bullet.

Everything feels like slow-motion, or being submerged into a pool with a sense of detachment the more bullets shot in their way. There are now several bullets being lodged into the van’s backdoor. One of them is even pushed out into the inside of the van by another bullet shot to that hole.

“No…” Nick whispers horrifyingly with tears starting to flow from his eyes again, “…no, I don’t—I don’t wanna… go back…”

He whimpers again.

Mark hopelessly stares at the closed doors with many bullets lodged into them, as does the old surgeon in front of him. He feels a sense of cold dread in his chest. In his arms, Nick turns away from the door and pushes his face into Mark's shoulder instead.

“No… I don’t want them to take me again… please, I don’t want to…”

Mark squeezes his eyes closed at Nick's muffled and desperate mumbling and tightens his arms around the fragile body, accompanied by more shots towards their van.

“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not going back. You’ll be okay,” he whispers gently to Nick as the boy keeps crying in his hold.

He moves his hands to rub Nick’s back up and down, tucking Nick’s head into the space between his neck and shoulder, cradling Nick like a child.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, don’t worry, yeah?”

He knows it’s a lie, of course.

There are four jeeps worth of highly trained Helga members on their tail. Maybe more, considering their screen is broken and they can’t see outside if there are more jeeps coming. They’re cornered. They have no weapon—no bullets, no protection, no means of fighting back.

God knows how long they still need to go to get to Central’s backup.

They…

They lost.

But he keeps rubbing Nick’s back up and down, continuously telling Nick that everything’s going to be fine.

Eventually, Nick whimpers, “Just… just kill me… please… I don’t want them to take me back…”

“No, don’t say that, come on,” he whispers gently to Nick’s ear, hating that Nick is trying to shatter his self-made illusion.

Across from him, Doctor Lowe stares with just as much emptiness on his face. The man even looks scared with glistening eyes.

Nick pulls back to face him fully.

“Just kill me…”

“Nicky, don’t—”

“I know we’re stuck, Mark.”

He stares back at Nick’s sure face, even if it’s wet with tears and pale.

“Don’t let me go back to them, please…”

Mark breathes out shakily, wincing once in a while when he feels more shot at their van.

“Just kill me…”

Nick chokes on a sob after that, face terrified but resigned at the same time.

Behind Nick, he sees Doctor Lowe digging into his pants then pulls out four glass vials.

Mark stares at them, catching a glimpse of ‘morphine’ and ‘100ml’ on the labels.

“No,” he firmly says to Doctor Lowe.

“You know we’re done, kid,” he tells Mark gently.

“No, we’re not. We’ll be fine.”

Doctor Lowe gives him a heartbroken and pitying look, but…

They’ll be fine. They have to be fine. He doesn’t have to kill Nick to prevent him from being taken back. They don’t have to kill themselves so that Helga can’t torture them back. They’ll be okay.

They’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

Even if there are more bullets lodged on their door, they’ll be fine.

They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be—

“I’m too old for this shit, son,” Doctor Lowe says with palpably heavy sense of exhaustion as he takes one bottle from his palm and keeps it in his own vest pocket.

Four bottles and one taken by Doctor Lowe already.

He gulps painfully.

Nick… Nick has to have one. He deserves that, at least.

It’s either Mark, Angie, or Anna whose fate in Helga’s hands will be uncertain.

Mark bites his lip, feeling terrified too with cold realization seeping into him. He feels his eyes getting wet, suddenly thinking about his mom and how he never got to say a proper goodbye to her, or Jackson. Or the others in his team.

How Nick will never get to taste freedom, except by taking one of those bottles.

It’s so unfair. Why is it all so unfair?

He hugs Nick tighter with his own closed eyes and tears flowing down his cheek.

“It’s okay,” he continues softly again to Nick’s ear, “you’ll be okay. They’ll never take you again. I promise. You’ll be okay.”

He keeps doing that, delaying the inevitable, trying to find it in his heart to help Doctor Lowe injects the content of that bottle to Nick’s vein when push comes to shove. And it will come to shove.

There are more shots to the van, and he feels deep plunging in his chest again.

Maybe he has never been cut out for this. For being a D.E.A.N agent. He doesn’t think a true D.E.A.N agent should be this shaky and terrified at the face of danger they supposedly signed up for.

“Wait.”

He opens his eyes and stare back at the surgeon.

The old man’s face is confused with furrowed eyebrows.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Mark asks back.

“There are shots fired,” the surgeon replies with widened eyes.

Mark glares, feeling angry at the fact that he’s emotionally being yanked around. The surgeon is the one forcing Mark to come to terms with what they’re going to face, but he is now the one being obtuse and playing around.

“I can fucking see that, Doc,” he harshly replies.

“No, look,” the surgeon says, curiously with a smile blooming on his face, “there are shots outside.”

Mark glares even more at the surgeon’s demented game.

“I’m aware. I have ears and eyes.”

“No, listen,” the old man emphasizes.

He stays glaring with Nick crying in his arms while refusing to look at the door with bullets lodged all over it. He doesn’t understand the point of Doctor Lowe saying all of these stupid shits.

But then he furrows his own eyebrows. There is something strange about the gunshot sounds.

Obviously, he can sense some bullets being shot in their way, be it through sound or the vibrations once they hit their van, but he still turns his head towards the doors along with the surgeon.

“These are not shot towards us,” he concludes.

On top of that, he finally hears some really loud whooshing above them, enough to penetrate the metal body of the van and into their hearing.

Mark quickly clicks on his earpiece comm, almost missing it in his haste. Immediately, there is a crackling sound of it connecting to a network.

Mark clicks on his round button.

“This is CC75 reporting in. Are you 1056? Over.”

“Oh, god,” he immediately whispers out.

“I repeat. This is CC75 reporting in. Are you 1056? Over.”

Mark shakily clicks on his square button while looking at his watch, seeing light blue dots all around them.

“We copy. Confirming this is 1056. Over,” he shakily replies.

“What’s your code? And is the informant with you? Over.”

“This is MT56. And yes, the informant is with us. Over.”

At that, Doctor Lowe jumps up and slams open the hatch again.

Mark immediately looks up, now realizing that the whooshing sound are from several helicopter blades.

“YOU’RE LATE YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!” Doctor Lowe screams with his hand thrown upwards while cackling like a maniac. “WHOO HOOO!”

Mark chokes out a half-laugh half-cry at the surgeon’s excited yell.

They still hear more shots, but it’s clear that it’s more between backup’s heli and the Helga members chasing them, rather than between those members and their van. He can even hear slight booming while their van is jolted around a little. He can only guess that it might be from backup’s grenade launchers.

Doctor Lowe pops back in and basically lets himself drop to his ass while leaning back on his arms, still laughing once in a while. He has tears too on his face despite the weirdly soothing chuckles.

Mark closes his eyes and lets more of his own tears drop to his cheeks, but out of relief. He hugs Nick even tighter while burying his face into the black hair.

“I told you we’ll be fine, right?” he whispers to Nick’s ear, now being honest.

Nick wraps his own arms around Mark too and pushes his face deeper into Mark’s neck, sobbing too out of relief.

Mark hears more crackling, so he clicks his square button again. He hears a different person talking this time, with a voice he is more acquainted to even before going into D.E.A.N.

“Agent Hayden, I have informed Agent Kingston and Agent Basset that you should drive forward for 20 more miles with two of our helis and three other backup’s vehicles, totalling 40 protection agents until you reach our rescue station. There are Medic agents ready to treat the informant’s puncture wound on his abdomen and other injuries all of you might have sustained. Do you copy? Over?”

“Yes, we copy, Agent Callahan. We’ll meet rescue teams in 20 miles. Over.”

“Good. Unfortunately, we can’t send all of our backup with you because we’ll need to assist 1034, but I think 40 agents are plenty enough to protect 5 of you. Do you copy? Over.”

“Yes, we copy. Of course, Sir. We’ll manage with that. Over.”

He is about to click circle to turn off his comm, but he hears another crackling signifying another request to connect to him.

“Good to hear you, son. Would love to hear Jackson too, but I bet he’d be proud of you anyway.”

Mark chuckles.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m trying my best.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

He waits for a bit, but eventually the familiar senior agent says, “CN94 over and out.”

The van continues to go for a while, with the shooting sounds eventually ceasing to the point that the bumping motions have become calming and lulling them all into a state of half-asleep. Mark makes sure to continue staying awake for the most part so that he can help Nick put pressure on his wounded stomach.

He doesn’t have the energy to think about what it means that Nick is leaning slightly to the side so that he can keep lying on Mark’s chest. Nick’s black-haired head is tucked so deeply under Mark’s chin that he can feel his lips slightly touching the dark sweaty strands. Mark’s arm is also still circling around Nick’s back and putting pressure on the wound that way.

He doesn’t even realize it when the van starts to slow down until it comes to a stop.

Suddenly, the doors to the back of the van are slammed open with lights flooding the space. He has to squint and put a palm over his eyebrows to adjust to it.

He sees several people wearing D.E.A.N’s standard uniforms with bulletproof vests on top who are pushing a gurney towards them, rolling it until it touches the back bumper of the van. Some step into the van itself to help Mark and Doctor Lowe shift Nick around until they can deposit Nick onto the mattress.

The bed is adjusted into a position where it bends upwards in the middle so that Nick isn’t completely lying down. An oxygen mask is quickly fitted onto his face with his head raised a bit so that the elastic band can be pulled behind his head. They put his head back to the bed again after that.

He doesn’t really notice Doctor Lowe walking away to be treated himself.

They immediately start wheeling Nick away, but before they can move far, Mark already steps forward quickly to approach the gurney without thinking. Nick too suddenly lifts his head with a desperate whimpering while reaching out to Mark. When Mark is close enough, Nick quickly holds his hand and grips it tight.

“Sir, we need to insert IV in him for the transfusion and other medications.”

“Let me go with him,” he insists, ignoring the other Medic agents who are trying to get him to sit down and be treated too.

He can’t be bothered to think about himself until he can see Nick safe.

“We’ll need to get him to a medic facility and into a Central Hub HQ. He is a critical informant.”

“He is a 21-year-old human trafficking survivor with PTSD. He is not just an informant,” he replies firmly with a little bit of offense and anger on Nick’s behalf at how they just reduce him to another mission object.

“Yes, sir, we’re aware,” the agent firmly responds to him without reacting to his impassioned words, “but he is still our critical informant, and we need to transport him to a safe confidential location as soon as possible.”

“Let me be with him until then,” he insists.

The Medic agents stare at him then at Nick who is still gripping Mark’s hand, no inhibition in his exhaustion and severe blood-loss. One of them sighs.

“Just until he is ready for transport to a medic facility.”

“Thank you,” he responds with deep relief and gratitude.

“And you’ll need to be treated too in one of the tents.”

“Yeah. With him.”

They give him an unreadable look, but he is too exhausted to think about what that means. They end up simply wheeling Nick into one of the medical tents with Mark on the side still continuously holding Nick’s hand.

Mark can see other agents being wheeled into some tents too, some arriving with helicopters. He assumes those are agents from 1034 and their backup after they decided Nick had plenty of backup agents protecting him already. Some of those arriving agents are able to stand and walk by themselves, but some have to be helped to move around. Some don’t move at all.

He doesn’t know what’s their exact status, and he is too afraid to think more about it, so he focuses on Nick again.

The Medic agents start pulling at Nick’s clothes to unzip his bulletproof vest and outright cuts up his shirt to get to his wound. Nick whimpers a bit at the sudden touches from strangers around him, so Mark squeezes his hand and whispers, “It’s okay, they’re not hurting you, they’re taking care of you, don’t worry”. Nick seems to calm down at that, and the Medic agents give him another unreadable stare that he is starting to get irritated with.

Is it so strange that he wants to calm Nick down and make sure that he is okay?

Nick reaches out shakily to move his hand out of Mark's grip and closer to the lower side of his bulletproof vest. He furrows his eyebrows seeing Nick's movement until the pale frail hand eventually hovers while the boy mumbles half-consciously, "Hmm... you... your bleeding..."

Mark feels warmth in his chest, relieved that Nick is safe enough to be able to feel concerned for someone else. And touched that in his muddled sense, Nick still cares about his condition.

"It's fine. Just lightly grazed. I'll be okay," he says as he bends closer to Nick's ear and squeezes Nick's palm lightly.

One of the Medic agents frowns with a disapproving look, seeing as the blood is copious enough to warrant a guess that it's slightly more than a superficial wound. Whether it's because he is minimizing his injury or because he keeps refusing to be treated until Nick is done, he doesn't know.

Nick shifts his head again to stare more directly at his right waist.

"Hurts? Doesn't... hurt?"

"I'll be fine," he chuckles, "don't worry about me."

"Hmm..."

Nick continues looking like he hardly has wits about him, unfocused despite trying his hardest to cling to consciousness.

The Medic agents keep treating Nick regardless, cleaning up his wound and entire front torso with disinfectant. He is guessing it also contains anaesthetic so that Nick isn’t too in pain when they cauterize his wound with the cauterizer. One of them lifts Nick’s palm that’s not gripping Mark’s palm and starts palpitating the skin to find a vein until she settles at one spot. Another Medic agent brings her a plastic pan with IV attachment instruments and materials in it.

After that, it’s pretty straight forward until the saline and blood bags are attached to Nick.

There are agents firmly walking out of a newly arriving helicopter, and the Medic agents who are caring for Nick turn to look at those agents slightly before looking back at Mark.

“He is going to be transported now.”

A firm dismissal.

But Mark doesn’t really care. He still walks to follow Nick’s gurney even when Nick has let go of his hand, maybe because the mask also disperses sedative so that he doesn’t feel afraid anymore being bounced around between strangers without Mark.

Eventually, they lift the bed to raise it and insert it to the heli with Nick being shifted around a bit. Mark sees that those swirly blue-brown eyes are closed, and his breathing is steady. Nick might have fallen asleep or unconscious, but he seems okay overall.

The helicopter’s blades are spinning again, creating strong gush of wind around. Mark has to put an arm over his face to soften the blow, then it takes off.

Mark would have liked to follow Nick all the way to the medic facility, and maybe beyond, but he does understand the need for the separation and confidentiality, so when some Medic agents clear their throats, Mark turns to them to dutifully follow them into a tent and sits on one of the beds as instructed.

Mark closes his eyes and leans his head back while they fuss over him. He takes a deep breath, finally letting himself feel the entirety of his shaky body, along with his exhaustion and the pain of the last many hours—and maybe even days or weeks—washing over him, but also deep relief.

When he opens his eyes again, he fittingly sees the dawn breaking with the sun starting to peek out of the sandy landscape.

A new day. A symbol of everything horrific happening before, now over.

Not everything is well and good, of course, considering there is still the question of Nick’s condition—which he doesn’t know whether he is allowed to be told or not after this.

There is also deep grief when he sees agents being wheeled on gurneys into several medical vans and helicopters, some of them fully covered by white sheets as their bodies and the fabrics are smeared with deep red, while the others are in varying degrees of being injured.

Even after this, there will most certainly be many more missions to deal with the rest of Helga. Undoubtedly going to be much more difficult than this.

But the yesterday of chaos is over. It’s really over.

It’s all okay now.

He can finally breathe easy, until the next mission.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)