#horrible chest infection and i injured my back from coughing so hard

[dailydragoncookies]

todays dragon cookie is: leans on expensive car (also i'm back, sorta!)

[milliedazzledust]

Even When It Hurts (Clark Kent imagine)

Request by @icyhollands​ : Clark comforting the reader after she got hurt by someone pretty badly, and him comforting her from a anxiety attack after she gets hurt

Words: 2009

A/N: I know a lot of you were waiting for this so I’m sorry it took so long to write - thank you for your patience and I hope you’ll like it :) 

“Clark, you need to come down, now!”

Flying across his enemies on the battlefield, he faintly heard the sound of a voice, even with the distance. As soon as Bruce had found the aliens associated with Darkseid, they had been quick to act and the whole team had made the trip to fight.

While the others were keeping most of their opponents on the ground, he had taken upon himself to divert their attention from the precious object they were trying to steal by attacking from the sky. Too focused on the task, he had missed Arthur and Y/N going after a bunch of them. When she had seen her friend in bad posture, she hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and the alien, taking the full blast of his hit. Her body had flown across the field before landing on a large tree trunk, breaking it in half. Her vision had been blurred for a moment, too disoriented as her breath was knocked out of her by the hard impact. She hadn’t been fast enough to notice the monster running toward her until she had felt the pain. Arthur had come to her rescue and killed him, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

When she looked down, all she saw was the tip of the weapon he had used, the other half was deep in her side, buried between what she guessed was her ribs. 

“Y/N’s been hit!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed her when she fell on her knees. 

High above their heads, Clark looked down and quickly spotted the wounded woman. He wasted no time in making his way to her, sending some of the aliens flying with a flicker of his hand. When one of them launched at him, and conjuring up all his frustration and his anger, he punched him with a force that knocked him out instantly. 

His eyes remained on her, always. He felt his heart clenched when he saw pain twisting her features and instantly understood the gravity of her situation. She was holding onto Arthur, clutching her side, holding the weapon steady in her flesh. Fear is all he could feel when he landed on the ground, staring at the large gash of blood around her wound. He could even hear her heartbeat getting faster by the second. 

Furrowing his brows in concern, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed her face. For a second he just studied her, softly brushing a tear with his thumb, until his eyes landed on hers.

“How bad is it ?” She asked him, her voice a weak whisper.

“You’re gonna be fine” He assured her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Clark” She tried to smile but even that simple movement seemed too much in her state.

She knew if she didn’t feel a thing yet it was purely because of the adrenaline. Tiny little molecules running through her veins, urging her body to fight back, to survive and fix what the foreign object had torn. She could sense fluid pouring out of her injury, the hand clutching her side was already covered in red. She was waiting for the moment the hormone would stop working and she would feel like a bomb had exploded inside of her. 

She closed her eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. Her breathing was getting irregular and she was losing her grip. She was exhausted.

“Y/N, stay with me” The superhero tried to motivate her, slowly shaking her head. “Show me those pretty eyes” 

She was starting to lose consciousness, and that observation alone terrified him. He kissed her forehead in a sign of encouragement and laid his hand over hers so she wouldn’t let go. She cried out in pain and glanced down. It only took a couple seconds before he was covered in blood as well. He pursed his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not look at the wound. His face was betraying him and he wasn’t even aware of it. She could so easily see the reflection of his own fear in his gaze, the depiction of worry over his features that she lazily traced with her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips knowing only she could read him like an open book. 

“It’s alright, baby” He comforted her. 

“You should work on your poker face” She tried to joke. She was glad it made him smirk.

He turned his head toward Arthur, still holding the woman’s body.

“We’re gonna lay her down” He told him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Y/N warned him, grabbing his biceps to stop him. 

“Do you trust me ?” He muttered, stroking her cheek.

“You know I do”

“Then trust me” 

She faintly nodded and let the men handle her wounded body. Arthur was behind her, holding on her shoulders, and Clark was in front of her, one hand on her wound, the other behind her neck. As gently as they could, they started to rotate her. Clark never moved his gaze away from hers, not even when her hand gripped his shoulder in pain or when her tears flowed freely as the pain started to become unbearable. 

The moment her head touched the ground, she began to cough blood. Her eyes widened at the realization and her heartbeat hastily palpitated. 

“We’re alright” He reassured her.

“We’re alright” She repeated in a whisper. She could no longer focus on anything around her. Anxiety was creeping up and threatening to take over. She knew it would do no good but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand tightly clutched the fabric of her man’s costume and her chest started to rise more rapidly as bile rose in her throat. 

“Clark” She called for help in a single breath. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m not leaving your side” 

He wiped the blood on her mouth with his finger.

“You and I have a date tomorrow, remember ?” He spoke, smiling when she faintly nodded. “So you’re not allowed to fall asleep. I haven’t even introduce you to my terrible cooking yet”

Her laugh started a coughing fit, bringing more blood out of her mouth.

“I have to take it out, Y/N” He said more seriously, motioning to the weapon in her body. 

Her eyes widened in panic and she shook her head, ignoring the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, beautiful. I’ve got you” 

“A .. plan ?” She asked.

“Yes, I do have a plan” He understood her question. “But you’re not going to like it” 

“Tell me” She murmured.

“You’re hemorrhaging,” He explained. “If we let it in, you’re risking an infection”

“And if you take it out, I’ll bleed out” She weakly responded.

“Not if I cauterize the wound” 

“How ?” 

She understood the moment she saw his eyes flashing red. She gulped, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“I trust you” She repeated the words she had said already.

He nodded and gave her one last encouraging smile before motioning for Arthur to come closer. He explained his plan in a hurry before standing up, letting the King of Atlantis take his place. 

“Ready ?” He questioned the woman.

“Do it” She said, clenching her teeth. 

She averted her gaze toward Clark, mouthing one last ‘I love you’ before Arthur pulled out the weapon in a very fast movement and held her down. Superman’s eyes immediately started glowing and he directed his heat vision to the open wound. The moment the high temperature laser touched her skin, she screamed in agony. A horrible, searing pain suddenly invaded her body and she was convinced she was going to die right there. She felt the urge to get away from the source but Arthur had a good grip on her. She kept shouting, as if it would ease the burning sensation. Clark’s jaw tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek, hating to be the one causing her pain.

After only a couple of seconds, she could no longer handle the torture and lost consciousness. The superhero stopped his ministration when he was sure the wound was closed properly and no blood was leaking anymore. Ignoring the smell of burned skin, he silently picked her up in his arms, listening closely to her heartbeats to make sure she was alright.

“I’ve got her” He told Arthur before bolting in the air.

She woke up hours later in a bed, completely disoriented. It took her a solid minute to recognize Clark’s bedroom inside the Kent farmhouse. She felt a throbbing ache on her side and muffled a scream when she touched it. When she looked down, she realized Clark had taken off her suit and had replaced it with one of his shirts. She lifted it to inspect the damage but all there was left of her wound was a small scar made by the man she loved. She shuddered at the memory and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, her body crumbled and she lost her balance. A pair of strong arms caught her before she could injure herself.

“You’ve not healed yet” A voice scolded her.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes closed, she let her head fall on his chest and circled his waist, squeezing him in a tight embrace that she so desperately needed. He was her safe line when she was spiraling down, which was happening now that she remembered she had almost lost him.

“How are you feeling ?” He inquired, kissing her head

“Alive” She replied. “I got … I really got scared for a minute”

She brushed a tear and tried to stop the hurricane of negative thoughts hitting her. He felt it too when her body started shaking and ran a hand on her back to calm her down.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you” He swore, holding back the anxiety creeping in. “And I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight for at least a week” 

She knew it was his way of lightening the mood when he could feel her darkness hovering above both of their heads. He had a way of guessing when it was coming and always reacted quickly, diverting her attention to anything else but her mind playing games.

“Do I, at least, get to spend that week in your arms ?” She smirked, raising her head so only her chin was resting on his chest.

“I have conditions” He replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes.

“Name it” 

She saw the change in his attitude and tilted her head in confusion when he took a step back. Cupping her face with both his hands, he stared deeply at her. She could see his quiet emotion through the way his eyes bore into hers, his fear and his devotion.

“Never say I love you like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hear it” He told her, his lips quivering as a shaky breath escaped his mouth.

Instead of answering, she led him to the bed behind them and together they laid down. He pulled her close and she raised her head until her lips found his. She didn’t need words when she could condensed a million loving thoughts into this moment. The emotion of that kiss alone spoke volume. A simple gesture that meant ‘you’re my home and I won’t leave’

“I love you, Clark”

She repeated the words again and again, making him laugh with happiness. He tightened his hold around her waist until she was almost laying on his chest. Her ear against his heart, she listened with a smile and closed her eyes, soothed by the steady rhythm. 

“Thank you” She whispered after a while. 

“What for ?”

“Bringing my head and soul back home to you when they get lost” 

“Always” He promised.

Her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed his cheek and peacefully fell asleep in his protective embrace. 

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

More drugged villain please?

Okay so I did not know if this was an ask for a new piece, or a continuation of Paying For It. Because I already am planning on Paying For It Part 2, this is going to be a new piece, so ladies and gents I present to you *drumroll*...

Villain Pursuit

@shydragonrider

Warnings: drugged whumpee, tranq dart, needles, fever, tired characters, chasing of whumpee, bullet wound, guns, infection, descriptions of injuries, knocked out by blunt force, kidnapping

*not edited, sorry*

~

"He is getting much weaker," Hero reported as she stood in front of her boss, Superhero. "His right leg is very swollen and he can hardly walk, much less run. I believe it is infected and-" a yawn "- and he can hardly walk in a straight line anymore."

"Then, why didn't you grab him if he is this easy?" Superhero asked, ignoring his employee's obvious signs of exhaustion- it has been a long, rough two weeks of chasing a villain across multiple states. One of the other heroes managed to shoot his leg in hopes of incapacitating him, but the slippery villain somehow walked it off. Or, he did and now the wound was badly infected.

"He disappeared into a crowd," Hero replied. "I think it's time to chase him down and sedate him or something. If he continues like this, he is going to die."

Superhero nodded curtly in agreement. "Okay," he sighed. "We go out there and we do not rest until Villain is safetly behind bars."

Hero narrowed her eyes at the bluntness in Superhero's voice, but decided that her boss was just tired. She also reckoned that was the reason he didn't mention the infirmary as Villain's first destination after capture.

He was just tired, right?

《~~》

"Okay," Hero said, adjusting the tranq gun on her belt. "There he is."

Villain was laying against the steps to a door in an alleyway. His head was thrown backwards against his shoulder, eyes cracked open in semi-consciousness. His injured leg was stretched out whereas the other was curled up in an attempt to use some leverage to support himself. One arm was propped to keep himself upright, the other strewn to the side.

"He looks horrible," Teammate commented, chewing nervously on his lip. "I doubt its going to take much to put him out."

"Yeah, me neither," Hero agreed, feeling a rising nausea in her stomach. The pair crept towards the injured villain. Hero glanced over to see more heroes also advancing to corner the man.

But, at the last moment before Hero was able to shoot the dart, Villain saw them. He scrambled up his feet, leaning heavily against the door and swaying wildy. He looked over all the heroes, before turning and running off.

Hero cursed under her breath and sped after the hobbling villain. For a moment, she felt absolutely sorry for him. He could hardly stay on his feet, his right leg not even stepping that much on the ground. She could hear his pained groans from where she was.

Hero stopped running and drew out her tranq gun. Whispering an apology, she let the dart fly.

The feathered dart hit Villain directly in the side of his neck. He stumbled a bit, the drug already taking effect. He made an awkward circle- more of an oval- before collapsing backwards on the ground, his arms limply trying to break his fall, but they failed. His head crashed into the ground, leaving him laying in a motionless heap.

Hero grimaced. She never saw someone go down that quickly from the tranq gun before.

She walked up to the villain, crouching down and staring at him. An odd mixture of defeat and relief expressed itself on his unconscious face. Hero sighed, running a hand through her hair, before taking a look at his swollen leg.

The bullet that previously imbedded itself in his leg was gone, leaving a very infected gash. His whole calf was twice the size it would normally be- due to the infection and the fact that he seemed to have a badly sprained ankle.

"Finally!" Teammate exclaimed, sitting down exhausted next to Hero. "I was getting to the point of just shooting him and being done-"

"Look at this," Hero gestured towards his leg. She pressed into the flesh, it wasn't like he could feel it. It was burning hot.

"Yeah, looks nasty. I'm gonna call Superhero and then let's get him to the infirmary," Teammate said and went to call their boss.

Hero positioned herself by Villain's head and placed it in his lap. For some reason, even though he was incapable of realizing her presence, she felt a call to comfort him.

"It'll be okay buddy," Hero whispered, brushing the unwashed hair out of Villain's face. "Just hang on for me, will you?"

Superhero came within a few minutes, oddly without the aid of doctors and nurses. Hero watched with a perplexed look on her face while Teammate shrugged, also very confused.

Superhero smirked down at the unconscious man, nonchalantly using his foot and shoving his shoulder over. Villain rolled deeper into Hero's lap, his muscles devoid of any resistance.

"Well good job my heroes," Superhero said in an annoyingly chirpy voice. "Help me get him into my car, and I'll take him to the, uh, infirmary."

Hero nodded curtly, but really she found this odd. Why was Superhero taking Villain? What if Villain woke up? Maybe he meant for Teammate and Hero to join him in the ride and just harmlessly forgot to mention it?

Teammate and Hero loaded Villain into the back of the car and buckled his limp body up. They had him in a sitting position with his leg dangling over his chest, arms lazily lying at his sides.

"Thank you so much, guys. Really, great job," Superhero applauded in an interestingly quick voice. Hero smiled back and prepared to ride shotgun.

"Wait! No, no, no," Superhero chuckled nervously. "Honey, why don't you and Teammate go home and get some sleep. You two have been working incredibly hard."

Hero detected the tension in her boss's voice, but chose to ignore it. Truthfully, she was too tired to argue and the thought of collapsing on her bed and sleeping was too tempting. She stepped back and Superhero got into his car and drove away.

《~~》

"It's been a week Hero," Teammate spoke over in between sips of his morning coffee. "A week and no signs of Superhero, we can't visit Villain, and the agnecy is a mess."

"Yeah, kind of odd," Hero agreed, looking out the window and across the busy street. She took a lip of her own coffee and glanced bavk over at her partner. "Maybe we should call him."

"Yeah." Teammate nodded, then a mischievous grin dawned on his face. "You do it," he challenged.

But Hero was not in the mood for games. She flipped out her phone and dialed her boss's number.

"Hey Hero, how are-" cough "-you." The superhero on the otherside of the line sniffled.

"Are you sick boss?" Hero asked, brow furrowing in concern.

"Yeah, just the flu. Nothing serious, just miserable."

Was it Hero's ears playing tricks on her, or did Superhero's voice seem suddenly much less congested?

"Oh well I'm sorry. Rest up and we'll see you next week."

"Is everything okay Hero?"

"Yep all good."

It was not all good. Hero hung up and looked over at Teammate. A wordless conversation passes between them and they both hustled to their feet and practically ran out the door.

Superhero lived on the outskirts of the city in a vintage farmhouse. Hero's sport car felt very out of place in the picturesque view of the red barn and old tractor.

Teammate knocked on the screen door and stepped back. Hero tried not to notice, but he had a gun with him.

"Coming! I'm coming!" Superhero's clearly not sick voice rang out. Hero heard the poudning of footsteps before Superhero, dreased in a sweatpants and a tank top, opened the door.

His face paled at the sight of his employees.

"Oh, hey ack. What brings you here? I said I was totally good," Superhero chuckled, tapping his fingers against the doorframe.

"Cut the bull Superhero." Teammate drew his gun. "Where is Villain?"

Hero was shocked. She didn't really piece two and two together, but it seemed like Teammate did.

Superhero had Villain.

"No where. What makes you think-"

Teammate brought the barrel of the gun to Superhero's temple, knocking him out. He immediately rushed over and stuck his boss with a needle.

"What?" Hero asked, astonished.

"I'm always prepared. Never trusted that guy anyways," Teammate replied, turning his nose up slightly at Superhero's sleeping form in amusement, before rushing into the house. Hero followed.

They found Villain unconscious on the floor of the basement. His arm was strewn over his face, bruised and bloodied.

Hero ran over and took one look at the villain an immediately knew that he was in reallt bad shape. The original infection seemed to be drained, but it was still quite pussy. Also, the swelling did not yet go down.

Teammate grabbed Villain's arm and turned it over to reveal tiny holes. Hero swallowed. He has been drugged, she realized with a shudder.

Teammate, without another word, scooped Villain into his arm and carried him back up the stairs. Hero followed, stunned into silence.

When they came across Superhero's peacefully sleeping form, Hero brought her heel down onto his nose. With a satisfying crunch, it broke.

"Serves you right," Hero whispered, voice dripping with malice.

Teammate had Villain lying in the backseat of the small car, his bad leg resting against his jacket as a pillow. Hero scooted in next to him, laying his head on her lap. "Okay, let's go," she said and Teammate droved to her house.

The first thing the two did was get the disgusting, soiled articles of clothing off Villain's partially starved body. He immediately started to shiver, convulsions overtaking his body.

"Okay, he need to be warmed up," Hero said. "Bath?"

"No, wrap him in warm blankets and then sit with him on the couch. I need to tend to this leg ASAP," Teammate said, voice completely focused and monotoned.

Hero did as she was told, swaddling Villain in a fluffy beige blanket. She laid his upper body across her lap as Teammate went to work on properly draining the abscess. Villain didn't stir and Hero got worried. She checked his pulse finding it too fast and erratic to be normal.

"Okay done." Teammate cleaned his hands off on a paper towel and doused the wound with antiseptic. When that was done, he wrapped the gash in thick bandages.

Hero clutched Villain, dragging him closer to her. Waking up slightly, he nuzzled his face into her arm. Then, he stilled again, asleep.

"What are we going to do about him?" Hero whispered. "Superhero won't let us get away..."

"I know." Teammate rubbed his eyes. "That's why I am going to pack and we are running away."

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Told You So

aka Three times Tony and Bruce take care of each other.

For @twentyghosts. Happy Birthday, Renata! This is a birthday fic and also my excuse for writing Science More-Than-Bros for the first time. It’s hurt/comfort because that’s me, but nothing dark.

Major thanks to @whumphoarder​ for beta reading. Enjoy :)

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

Bruce wakes when the sky outside is still dark, hours before their alarm is set to ring. That’s nothing new - between him and Tony, they have assembled so many potentially nightmare-inducing traumas that there is hardly a night in which both of them sleep until morning - but today it’s something else that woke him.

Tony is facing away from Bruce in a futile attempt to not disturb him with a wet and seemingly painful coughing fit. He is hunched into himself, trembling slightly, sucking in rattling breaths between the coughs.

“Hey, Tony, take it easy,” Bruce mumbles as he blinks himself awake, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

He props himself up on an elbow and starts to rub circles on the other man’s back. Tony shivers visibly under his touch, and Bruce’s hand goes up to his neck. He sighs when he feels the searing heat coming off Tony’s skin. The chest infection Bruce warned him about when he went on a three-days workshop binge with a cold is now in full force. Of course Bruce was right, but he doesn’t feel satisfaction, only worry. Bruce isn’t one to say ‘I told you so’.

Tony coughs and coughs and coughs, then wheezes in a breath and coughs some more, sounding increasingly frantic.

“Okay, you need to get upright.” Bruce scrambles out of bed and helps the other man sit up.

Tony takes a rattled breath before doubling over and hacking again. He brings a hand to his chest in a pained expression. “Can’t - breathe -”

“I know, I know. You’re okay, Tony, it’s just the infection,” Bruce assures in the calmest voice he can muster, trying to radiate confidence. He knows that not being able to breathe is one of Tony’s most prominent triggers, and the last thing they need right now is a panic attack.

“JARVIS, can you start the steam in the shower?” he addresses the AI.

“Of course, Dr. Banner.”

“That should help you,” Bruce encourages, hoisting Tony up. “Come on.”

Steam is already filling the shower. Bruce sits Tony down on the ground, asking him to lean forward and breathe evenly.

Tony tries, then descends into another coughing fit. He tries again and hacks up a mouthful of mucus, his fingers clawing into Bruce’s arm. There’s panic in his eyes when the attempt to fill his lungs with oxygen yields no result.

“Okay, try again, just breathe with me,” Bruce instructs. He takes both of Tony’s hands into his, holding them tight. “I’m right here, okay? Let’s do this together.”

He counts them down from ten a couple of times until finally Tony’s breathing eases. For a minute, Tony just sits there with his eyes closed, swaying slightly, relief visible on his face. Then he slumps against Bruce, exhausted and clearly feverish.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “‘s was awful.”

“You’re okay now,” Bruce soothes. “Maybe just listen next time when I tell you to take a day off.”

Tony sticks out his tongue at him, then buries his face in Bruce’s chest.

“Do you think you’ll be okay here for a moment while I get us a change of clothes?” Bruce asks. He personally wouldn’t mind cuddling his partner on the bathroom floor all night, but the heat of the steam really doesn’t help with Tony’s fever.

Tony nods sluggishly, already half asleep. Bruce helps him shift so he can support himself against the tiled wall.

He goes to change his own pajamas, leaving the wet ones on a heap on the floor to deal with later. Then he fetches a pair of sweatpants and a shirt for Tony and returns to the bathroom.

“Brucie?” Tony is still sitting on the shower floor, and when he looks up at Bruce, there’s a smile on his tired face and a sparkle in his eyes. “Your bedhead looks adorable.”

*

“Something about this smells fishy to me,” Tony says into his comm and Bruce grins because this is the third time he’s heard that same line during the past hour. He can almost see Steve taking a deep, measured breath on the other side of the channel.

Missions are always Bruce’s least favourite part about being an Avenger. This time, at least, it isn’t the Hulk who is needed but actually Bruce, the scientist, and there are definitely worse things to do than investigate an abandoned Hydra base together with Tony.

That’s what he thinks anyway, until the moment when the air resonates with a deafening explosion from further down the corridor and he realises that they have walked right into a trap.

“I told you so,” Tony snaps at Steve through the comm, and Bruce almost laughs because this is such a Tony thing to say, but then there’s an ominous crunch from the walls, and the next moment the building collapses over their heads.

The dust settles and by some mysterious fortune, Bruce is still Bruce, although a Bruce who’s lying on the ground on his back without any memory of how he got there. He tries to get up with a groan, but he can’t. His chest is pressed down by something metallic, and he realises with a surge of fear that it’s Tony’s armour. He tries to turn to his side, but that doesn’t work either as there is debris all over him and possibly the remnants of a wall nailing him in place. He tries to lift his hands to free himself just to realise that he can’t even do that, and that’s when the panic takes over.

He mutely notices Tony saying something, but he can’t concentrate, his own increasingly frantic breaths sounding too loud in his ears. The weight on his body seems to grow heavier with each second that passes, and he is almost sure that he can feel the oxygen decreasing.

The Hulk stirs in the back of his mind, and Bruce is nearly glad to let him take over, but then he realises that this can’t happen because Tony is lying above him, which means that Tony is trapped together with him under the debris, and if the Hulk comes out, he will squeeze Tony to death and -

“Bruce? Are you okay?” Tony’s voice interrupts his racing thoughts and Bruce realises from his tone that this is not the first time he must have asked the question.

Get me out of here, he wants to shout, but he can’t answer, the weight pressing down onto his vocal chords robbing him of oxygen.

“Bruce?”

“N-No,” he manages. “C-can’t -” He breaks off, panting.

“Okay, hey,” Tony says. “Calm down, big guy.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, Bruce thinks, because it’s not the what that is the problem here, it’s the how. Tony mumbles something into his suit, and then Bruce can feel a gush of fresh air on his face, because of course Tony’s suit would have an A/C function.

He gulps in a breath, and another, and another. It doesn’t do much to take the weight off his limbs, but at least the fear of suffocating is gone for the moment.

“Bruce? Talk to me, you’re freaking me out. Are you okay?” Tony sounds a little panicked himself.

“Yeah - yeah, I’m sorry,” he rasps. “Just, uhm, I don’t really like small spaces.”

He can hear Tony let out a breath. “Yeah, somehow I guessed that… You’re not injured, right?”

“No, I’m-I’m good, just, there’s debris all over me. And I can’t move.” He tries not to make the last sentence sound too pathetic, but it’s a close call.

“I’d help you out, but my suit’s holding the structure upright, so I can’t really move either,” Tony explains.

Bruce can feel the minute shakes of the armour betraying the strength it takes Tony to keep the building from collapsing further - can hear the low hum of the armour. He wonders how much energy it has left.

“FRIDAY called for backup, they should be coming soon,” Tony goes on. “Don’t move until then, it’s a very...fragile situation.”

Great. That’s just great.

“Are- Are you hurt?” Bruce asks, because no matter how close to losing it he is, he needs to know whether Tony is okay.

“Nah, I’m good,” Tony responds, the strain in his voice obvious. Bruce is inclined not to believe him, but on the other hand, he is carrying a building on his shoulders, so of course he’d sound strained, and god there is a whole building trapping them and he can’t move -

“Slow it down, big guy,” Tony instructs firmly.

“It’s not - It’s hard - “ The edges of Bruce’s vision are shimmering green.

We are safe, he tries to convince the Hulk, You don’t need to take over, we’re okay- but he has such a hard time believing it himself.

“Bruce. Just breathe with me. Like that night in the shower, when I was sick, you remember?” Tony manages the miracle of keeping his voice soft even though he himself is almost panting from exertion.

“Yeah,” Bruce manages, pulling up the memory in his mind. If Tony got through bronchitis without a panic attack, Bruce can get through his claustrophobia. Has to, actually - it’s not like there’s much of a choice.

“Okay,” Tony directs, “Count your breaths. Easy-peasy.” There is a groan and something in the structure shifts. For a horrible second Bruce thinks that this is it, it’s going to collapse and the Hulk will come out and Tony will die - but then he feels a hand reaching for his, and realises that Tony has somehow freed his arm.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Tony asks.

“Y-Yes. Thanks.” Tony finds Bruce’s hand in the dark, and he can feel the nanite casing of the other man’s suit retracting, his warm fingers enveloping Bruce’s own.

“Here. I got you.” Tony soothes. “Now, just breathe. They’ll come for us soon.” His fingers hold Bruce’s tightly, pressing his hand in rhythm with Bruce’s breaths.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce says when he manages to calm down a little bit.

“For what? Was it your fault that Captain The-Structure-Is-All-Clear Rogers got the wrong intelligence?”

“No, of course not, just...if I wasn’t there, you could just use your repulsors -”

“Goddammit, Bruce, stop apologising for existing!”

“S-Sorry,” Bruce whispers, feeling a tiny smile form on his lips.

“Stop saying sor -” They are interrupted by a rumble from somewhere deep in the structure.

Bruce flinches, but Tony’s fingers press his reassuringly. “It’s the team. They’re coming for us. Don’t worry, we’re going to be safe.”

Thankfully, Tony is right once again.

*

“Sorry-  for making you late -” Tony rasps, spitting a string of bile into the toilet bowl.

“What do you mean, ‘late’?” Bruce frowns. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, we are so going-” Tony stops to rip a piece of toilet paper off the roll and roughly wipe his mouth with it. “I’ll just - give me a few minutes, I’ll be able to keep down a painkiller and then we can leave -” He interrupts himself to retch once more.

“Tony, the stupid ceremony is not important. I’m not letting you go in the state you’re in.”

“This’ nothing  - jus’ a stupid migraine - I’ve worked through worse -”

“Is that supposed to reassure me? Because it definitely doesn’t.”

Bruce braces himself for another comeback, but Tony has gone quiet, holding his head in his hands with his eyes screwed shut, reeling slightly. His adam’s apple is bobbing up and down as he is visibly trying not to be sick again. The pain on his face is almost too much for Bruce to bear.

“Okay, hey.” Bruce brings his tone down to a soothing whisper. “Do you think you’re done for now?”

Tony nods minutely, so Bruce helps him up to standing. Tony whimpers involuntarily when the change of altitude dials up the pain, grabbing at the basin for balance. When he can stand more steadily, Bruce fills a glass of water for him to rinse his mouth.

FRIDAY has already dimmed the lights in the bedroom. Bruce sits Tony down on the foot of the bed and takes a moment to tidy up the pieces of the fancy suit that are laid out on the mattress, evidently left there when Tony got sick while trying to get dressed. Bruce is glad that he came home early to find the man in the bathroom throwing up instead of meeting Tony directly at the science award ceremony like they had planned originally. He is sure Tony would have forced himself to go despite a migraine bad enough to make him sick.

“‘m useless. And stupid. More stupid than Dum-E.” Tony is struggling with the buttons of his suit shirt.

“I have a hard time believing that, coming from the man who was supposed to receive a science award tonight with me.” Bruce smirks.

“I feel stupid. Can’t use my brain. ‘n my hands.” He pulls at the buttons irritably.

“It’s okay. I got this, see?” Bruce helps him out of the shirt, eliciting a small, grateful smile. He nudges him to change into sweatpants before Tony gingerly curls into the blankets.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Bruce tells him quietly.

“Can’t. Not tired, ‘s not even seven yet.”

“Keep lying there and I bet you’ll be asleep within half an hour.”

“Sure.” Tony responds sarcastically.

“Are you still feeling nauseous?” Bruce asks. The answer is a small nod, so Bruce fetches the trash can from the corner of the room and sets it next to the bed. Then he goes to wet a washcloth with cool water and lays it over Tony’s eyes. Tony lets out a breath of relief.

“You can still go, y’ know?” he speaks up when Bruce slides under the blanket with him. “‘s boring here, ‘m no fun.”

“Tony, you don’t have to be fun for me to want to be around you,” Bruce protests. “I don’t want you to be alone when you’re sick.”

“Oh. ‘kay.” Something in his tone expresses genuine surprise, and Bruce feels a sudden green flash of anger at whoever it was that made Tony believe he has to be a source of constant entertainment in order for people to stay with him. Bruce draws in a breath.

“How’s the pain?” he asks, more softly.

Tony shrugs, flinching when he does so. His face is abnormally pale, sweat beading on his hairline. Bruce realises that he still has a clenched fist pressed to his left temple. Migraines typically hurt on only one side of the head, Bruce recalls, and with Tony, it’s always the left that gives him trouble. Carefully, Bruce reaches out, removing Tony’s fingers and starting to exert light pressure on his head. Tony bites back a whimper.

“Does that hurt?” Bruce asks, immediately pulling back his hand.

“Nah. ‘s good,” Tony exhales.

Bruce starts to lightly massage Tony’s temple, then runs his fingers through the man’s curls. They’re damp from sweat and messy, giving him a softer look than the careful style in which he usually keeps them. Although Tony would disagree, Bruce likes them much better this way.

Bruce massages the pressure points at the base of his skull and Tony moans quietly, rolling over so that Bruce can reach the other side of his head. His jaw is still set and the pain is visible in the lines around his eyes, but the tension is slowly decreasing.

“Last time anyone did that was like, 35 years ago,” he mutters.

“Your mom?” Bruce asks, thinking of how his own mother used to take care of him - whenever she could, which was usually when his father wasn’t home.

“Nah,” Tony huffs. “Jarvis. The human Jarvis. He use’ to - used to stay with me when I was sick as a kid.”

“Oh.” Bruce knew about Tony’s closeness to the butler, but it starts to occur to him now that Jarvis had probably been more of a substitute parent. Bruce’s own childhood had been pretty much a horror story, but he wouldn’t really want to switch with Tony either.

Bruce buries his hand in his partner’s curls, focusing on the sensation of the hairs being smoothed under his fingers.

“Thank you,” Tony mumbles after a while, reaching up clumsily to grasp Bruce’s hand and stop it in its pace. He doesn’t let go of Bruce’s fingers and instead pulls the hand close to his face so that the knuckles press onto his forehead. “Thank you fo’ stayin’…”

Bruce smiles a little in the dark. “Always, Tony.”

He keeps sitting in this position, holding Tony’s hand in his. Five minutes later, Tony is asleep.

Bruce he bends down and presses a kiss to the other man’s forehead. “Told you so,” he whispers.

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

All my fics

@badthingshappenbingo - This is my fill for the square “Raspy Breathing”.

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

[smolfoxbab]

@caustic-synishade

 So I saw this when it was posted and was compelled to write something but didn’t have the time. Now I do so... *sigh* here I go:

Tyler groaned, blinking as he tried to adjust his foggy vision. His head throbbed, and he felt the slightest hint of nausea. He felt like had had just woken up after sleeping too long, his thoughts groggy and sluggish. Slowly, his vision cleared, and Tyler found himself standing in a dimly lit room that he didn’t recognize. Startled, he shot up, his blue eyes making a panicked sweep around the room.

"What the-"

He froze, his eyes locked on the floor in front of him. Even in the weak light, it was hard for him to miss the dark puddle that was pooled on the ground just a few feet away. Nor was it any harder to miss the figure that lay slumped down next to it. Cautiously, Tyler crept his way forward, unsure of what he was looking at. He didn't want to take any chances. He approached the figure anxiously; his eyes squinted in an attempt to see more clearly. He could tell it was a person, but he couldn't quite see their face.

As he took another step forward, that no longer became an issue. He felt his blood run cold.

"Mark?!"

No longer hesitant, he dashed over to the man, kneeling down beside him.

"Hey! Mark! Shit, what happened?!"

He looked his friend over in concerned horror. Cuts and bruises covered his body. Some were older looking, scabbed and infected. Others looked like they had been received recently, with blood still dripping slowly from them, staining his torn clothes and forming the small puddle that was pooling on the floor under him. Tyler shot his attention to Mark's face which, like the rest of him, was injured and bloodstained. His eyes were closed.

"Mark? C'mon buddy, wake up!" Tyler pleaded, brushing a strand of blood-dried hair from Mark's face. He saw the other man's eyelids flicker. Slowly, he regained consciousness, looking up at Tyler with dull eyes.

"Tyler...? Is that... are you...you?" his voice sounded hoarse and weak.

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm me, who else would I-"

Then it hit him. The memories of what had happened flooded through his mind in a jumbled wave. That thing- that monster, had taken over his body. He had tried to fight it off, but it had overcome him. It had used him and Ethan to kidnap Mark and bring him to a secluded location. It made him watch as his friend suffered. As it forced torture on him. It made him say disgusting, horrible things, and then laughed at Mark's misery. It made him hold that knife and-

"Shit." Tyler cursed bitterly, anger welling up inside him.

"I'm so sorry Mark. I... I'm gonna get you out of here."

Mark let out a cough, wincing as it shook his body.

"Wh-what about Ethan? Is he still...?"

"Is he still what?"

Tyler jolted up, turning around defensively. Ethan stood in the entrance of the room. His eyes were those of the monster that had possessed him, and a disturbing grin was set on his face.

"So Tyler, I see you've rejoined the human race. Props. I didn't think you'd manage, to be honest."

Ethan mocked, his voice a distorted version of what it once was. Tyler shuddered at the thought that his voice had held the same tone. But he held his ground as he confronted him, not willing to let the thing anywhere near Mark again.

"Let Ethan go you bastard!" he growled, his fists clenching. Ethan let out a chuckle.

"Or what? I highly doubt you can make me. You're lucky you even got yourself away. If you can even call it luck."

"What the fuck do you want?! Why did you do this to Mark?!" Tyler shouted, taking an enraged step forward. Ethan tilted his head to one side.

"Why? Well, because it's fun, of course. How else am I supposed to cure my boredom?"

With that answer, Tyler had heard enough. He lunged forward, swinging his fist and impacting with Ethan's jaw. The blue haired man stumbled back, a look of genuine shock on his face. Tyler really didn't care if what he was fighting wasn't human at this point. He had to get Mark to someplace safe. And if this thing was going to stand in his way, then so be it.

He took another swing before Ethan could react, landing a blow on his stomach. The man staggered back again and let out a grunt, but didn't fall. He looked up at Tyler, the shock on his face now replaced with anger.

"So you wanna play that game, do you? Fine then, let's fucking play."

Ethan sprung forward, tackling Tyler to the ground. Whatever was possessing him had more strength than its host, and the two of them hit the ground hard. Ethan reeled back from on top of Tyler, bringing his fist down onto the other's nose. Tyler could feel it crack as blood started to flow from it almost instantly. As Ethan pulled back to take another swing, Tyler struck out his own arm to hit Ethan square in the chest, breath gasping out of him briefly on impact.

Tyler seized his opportunity and threw Ethan off, pushing himself back to a standing position. Ethan was quick to follow, however, his red pupils staring furiously at him through black pools. Tyler raised his fists, daring him to come closer. He wasn't planning on giving up anytime soon.

Before Ethan could attack, the soft rattle of of something metal sounded, and Tyler noticed something shiny slide near to his foot. Quickly looking down, his saw it was a knife, sharp and slightly blood-stained. He reached down and snatched it up, holding the handle tightly in his hand. Ethan laughed.

"Really, Mark? You think giving him a knife is gonna-" his hateful banter was cut off as Tyler slashed at him, missing his chest by an inch. Determined to get this over with, he kept swinging, pushing Ethan back each time the blade swished through the air. A few hits actually landed, cutting his arms and one even slicing his cheek. Finally, Tyler ducked down and hit low, plunging the entire blade into Ethan's left knee.

He screamed in pain, toppling over and clutching his injured leg, the substance coming out a mixture of blood and black substance. Tyler moved back, panting. He wouldn't kill him. Possessed or not, Ethan was still his friend. But Mark needed help, so slowing Ethan down was the best Tyler could do. He hoped breaking his leg would at least buy him some time. Quickly he turned back to Mark, who was vainly struggling to drag himself off the ground.

"Hey, easy. I got you."

He adjusted himself to pick Mark up, trying his best no to injure his friend any further. Ethan hissed violently, his voice strained.

"You dumb-ass! I’ll get up!  I can still follow you! You're not going to get out of this place!"

Tyler walked over to the entrance, glancing down at Ethan with cold eyes. He stared at him silently for a moment, then went out the door, careful to keep Mark from bumping the frame. He walked out into what seemed to be a wooded area, tall pine trees surrounding him on all sides. A small dirt path stretched out in front of him, winding its way through the trunks. He figured it was his best bet, and started walking.

"Tyler..." Mark mumbled, his words barely audible.

"Quiet. Save your strength, alright? I'm taking you to a hospital."

"I'm... glad you're... back..." Mark muttered, his eyes drooping.

Tyler paused, looking down at him with worry.

"Hey, stay with me. Mark?"

The other man's head lolled as he blacked out, and Tyler felt a panic grip his chest. He started walking again, fear quickening his step. He hardly noticed the pale light of dawn that was lighting the sky behind him, illuminating the forest in which he traveled.

"Hang on, Mark. You'll get through this."

Meanwhile, staggering back several yards away, a pair of red eyes glared out at the retreating figures from between the trees. He clutched one leg as he followed, dragging it painfully through the soil and leaves, leaving a trail of dark red dripping behind him. Pausing to look at the sky, he laughed quietly to himself before turning back, his voice an eerie whisper:

“The sun isn’t your safe haven.”