#i made these when i was half asleep and delirious on nyquil

[boy-oneder]

Rammstein Text Post Memes: Flake Edition™

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

I know everyone likes the "secretly good villain whumpee..." but what about when the villain was a rat- bastard with very few redeeming qualities... just being injured and sick and oh so broken. Just begging for mercy, even though they were so arrogant and vicious before.

I melt at those scenarios.

I agree with that. If the villain is secretly good, you might as well call him or her a hero- or at least a vigilante.

Vicious and Bloody

Warnings: gorey(?) description of injuries, maggots, blood, vomit, mention of people dying, pus, field medicine, bathing, vomit, sleep deprivation, pills (tylenol and ibuprofen), attempted murder, implied past torture, hallucinations, fever, delirium

~

There was no rational answer for the scene in front of her. Not even the greastest minds in history could comprehend it- figuratively speaking. It was just so peculiar, odd and out of place, that it was like from a different dimension.

The said scene would be absolutely mortifying to the squeamish soul. Between the blood and the vomit and the maggots, the sight was more than revolting.

But still, ignoring her instincts to gag and run, Civilian crouched down next to the poor man- not touching, of course, it would only irritate his injuries further and be disgusting on many levels.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Civilian asked the man softly, brushing back the part of his grimey hair that wasn't intoxicated by maggots or too much blood.

But in doing that, she realized that the man wasn't even conscious. Which, was not surprising and brought a small relief to the nervous civilian.

But it also revealed his identity. Even without the foreboding mask, his features unmistakably were those of the most feared and vile human of the city.

Villain.

"If you ever see Villain, call the heroes. If he so happens to be incapacitated, kill him or injure him further to limit his ability of escape or to destroy."

That mandatory lesson rang through Civilian's ears nearly as loud as semi's horn. It was every civilian's responsibility- whether they were a certified hero or not- to hand it or dispose of any being against the government.

Especially Villain.

Especially without any doubt Villain.

Civilian sighed and observed the injured man's face. It was her responsibility to do this, the city would thank her, applaud her.

She brought her hands to Villain's neck and squeezed. His breaths hitched, but he didn't wake, not even to the sensation of suffocation. Civilian squeezed her eyes shut, but it did nothing to rid her mind of the horrendous sight of his already crimson stained face growing even redder... his lips paling then morphing into a grayish blue...

Civilian gasped, drawing her hands away from his neck. The villain's eyes shot open as he tried to fill his lungs, but as he heaved and wheezed, they kept rolling up and sliding closed.

"Hey!" Civilian exclaimed, tapping his shoulder. Villain's eyes shot open and he looked at Civilian with an expression filled with the unthinkable.

Fear.

Villain's lip trembled as he tried his hardest to scoot away. He whimpered something unintelligently and weakly held up a hand as if to protect himself from futher harm- as if the shaking limb could do anything other than wave aimlessly in the air.

Upon coming to the conclusion that escape was impossible, the villain resumed a position of pointless mewling.

"Don't hurt me," he whined, tears streaming down his cheeks, making the small cuts sting and itch. "D-don't hurt me. I've been bad, please don't remind me. P-please." He shifted his head into his elbow and sobbed.

Civilian didn't know what to do with the scenario, so she just allowed him to cry until he was too exhausted to do anything other than whimper pained pleas.

When his eyes started to droop, Civilian wrapped her arms around his upper body and heaved him into a sitting position- somewhat shocked of how limp and pliable he was.

Then she stopped. What was she doing? Villain was the most notoriously evil person in the city, if not the universe. He killed hundreds, thousands even including men, women, and children. He was undeserving of any level of comfort, whether that be love, care, or compassion.

Yet someone had to be worse than him to put him in such a nasty condition.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, clinging to Civilian's shirt with all his might- as little as that was.

"I won't," Civilian promised, smiling down at the injured villain. The villain sighed and closed his eyes.

She had to help him now. It would be practically illegal to turn him in, or harm him even further. Well, metaphorically speaking.

Civilian dragged Villain into her house. Luckily, she owned a one-story, so bringing him to the bathroom was not too big of a deal- apart from the exertion on her slender arms, that was.

Immediately, Civilian stripped off the remains of his tattered clothing and sat him in the tub. Gingerly, she washed out the infection wounds, making sure all the maggots were gone.

After thirty minutes, she only finished the lower half of his body and his back and shoulders were much, much worse. It took another hour to get done with those.

Civilian took a second to catch her breath, she didn't realize how diligently she was working. The villain was completely clean, other than countless uneven holes that looked like someone grabbed his skin and pulled it out.

The next line of business was whether or not to give him stitches. Many of the remainding wounds were heavily infected and would benefit from being dried out.

Many of those infected wounds needed to be drained and removed.

Civilian sighed, thinking of her nursing classes. She had school tomorrow...

Someone was dying.

Someone with the name of Villain.

Civilian ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She ran in through the sharpener a couple times before heating it on the stove to remove bacteria. Here goes...

Civilian cut into one of the infected abscesses and carefully drained the pus out. She sighed and wiped her hands on a papertowel. She should really be wearing gloves...

Villain jerked, suddenly awakening with a shriek. His eyes saw the knife and he froze, staring at it for a long time, before erupting into unstoppable sobs.

"Don't hurt me! P-p-please don't... knife," he wailed, trying to curl into himself.

"Stop it," Civilian tried to reason, clenching her teeth, as she pulled Villain away from himself. He started to rock, back and forth... back and forth... back and-

"Hurts," he whimpered.

"I know," Civilian whispered, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm trying to help."

"No. Pain."

"No pain?" Civilian repeated, trying to make sense of what Villain's intent of the statically said statement.

"No pain," he murmured, resting his head against the tub. "Take away."

"I don't have anything for the pain," Civilian told him softly. "Some nyquil, but I'd rather give you tylenol for the fever."

Villain looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Please," he begged..

"It's just gonna make you tired, not take away the full extent of the pain."

Villain let out a strained sob and kicked out with his feet. Pouting in the most pitiful way.

"Just," Civilian sighed. "Just. It's gonna hurt."

Civilian leveled the knife to another wound and drained it. Villain writhed in the beginning, but stopped when he realized his fate.

By the time each major abscess was drained, Villain was barely conscious, his head lolling groggily against the bath tub. Civilian gulped. She would have to disinfect the wounds now, but she didn't have anything for it...

Salt water, a saline solution.

Villain's screams did not leave Civilian's memory for a while, even when he was finally asleep on the couch. Civilian aimlessly rubbed his hand, whispering to him as he slept, but it all felt wrong. So, so wrong. All the people he hurt never got the same level of care that he was receiving- as if they had any at all.

But at the same time, it felt right. None of Villain's victim's injuries were as extreme as his- they either died or went to the hospital. Whoever tortured Villain wanted him to suffer, not that Villain wanted people to not suffer...

Crap, this was confusing herself.

Civilian cared for Villain throughout the night. The open textbook on her kitchen table did not even remind her of her class in the morning. Nothing could, especially when someone so sick seeked her hospitality.

Villain's fever raged and he was fed more and more tylenol. Eventually, she started to put ice packs around his neck and major arteries, but he was still so, so miserable.

He started to hallucinate. Sometimes whimpering about a bat flying around his head, or laughing giddily. But one of these episodes really stood out to Civilian.

"Curve, curve," he muttered as his cheek rested against the mattress- for some reason he kept flipping himself to his stomach. "Fall."

"Then cave." The delirious, but intense gaze the villain had made Civilian wonder if he was trying to tell her something in his fevered state.

"Man hurt."

Civilian shushed Villain and gave him a quick sip of water with an ibuprofen tablet. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, scratching at the sheets. "Please."

"I won't, sleep."

Villain slowly, oh so slowly nodded as he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

Civilian took care of Villain as best as she could. She really needed to get supplies, but it was dangerous to leave the villain unattended as sick and injured as he was. Infection set in agai, fever rose...

Civilian groaned and rubbed her head. She had a horrible headache from stress and lack of sleep.

Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt...

When Civilian woke up, seven hours later, she found Villain shivering on the ground with vomit all over him.

"Dangit," Civilian groaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Just dangit.

[fidothefinch]

Stuck with You

Batfam Week Day 3: Injuries/Bonding During a Mission

Ao3

“For the record, this is the singular worst hiding place I have ever had the displeasure of using.” Damian’s legs were cramping from holding his position for so long, but he didn’t dare move. The rain made everything slick, and he couldn’t afford to lose what traction he had.

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome to find a better one.” Tim’s voice, coming from somewhere behind and slightly above Damian, was too tired to sound annoyed. He was having difficulty holding still, too. “Still beats staying to take care of B.”

Damian scrunched his nose at the reminder. His father did not take the flu gracefully. “There is no time to rework our strategy. If this plan fails, it will be your fault alone.”

He could almost hear the eye roll. “Uh-huh. Okay, Robin.”

A noise came from outside, and they both stilled, straining their ears. It came closer, but when it passed the opening of their hiding place it was no bigger than a squirrel.

Tim shifted his weight carefully. “If the drug dealers want to get here soon, my back would appreciate it.”

The tube slide was made for children, after all. It was not meant to accommodate two vigilantes for hours on end.

The slide was bright yellow, the inside was covered with lewd graffiti, and it smelled like feet. But it was a small price to pay for the shelter the tube provided. As Damian had to begrudgingly agree, it was the only real hiding place on the playground close enough they would be able to catch the dealer in the act.

Lo and behold, the playground mulch was disturbed again as another figure shuffled by the slide in the dark. By the two-beat rhythm, Damian guessed it was a human.

They fell into silence.

Several minutes passed. The lone figure circled the playground several times, never quite finding a place to rest to wait.

Finally, the feet stilled. Tim tapped Damian on the shoulder, and Damian nodded he noticed. Within a minute, another set of footsteps ambled across the playground, guided by the glow of a flashlight.

“Are you Ray?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

The voices were muffled by the plastic, and even Damian had trouble making out the words. Carefully, he let himself slide down their hiding place. Just an inch.

A hand tapped his shoulder.

Damian scowled and looked back at Tim, who shook his head.

Damian rolled his eyes, threw off Tim’s hand, and braced his legs to prepare another miniscule movement.

When he turned back, there was a dog at the base of the slide.

Almost as though it could sense his gaze, its eyes shot over to him.

It growled.

“Up, up!” Damian hissed, pushing on Tim’s foot to convey the message.

The dog jumped onto the lip at the base of the slide and started barking. Damian had barely risen an inch before it tried to climb after him. Its teeth snapped around the empty air where his foot had been half a second earlier.

Damian grit his teeth and kicked out at it, wincing at the yelp it gave when he managed to clip its nose. The dog slid down and off the bottom of the slide, but there was no use in staying.

They had been spotted.

“Hey! Who’s there?” The light swiveled and illuminated the slide, highlighting the stark graffiti on the inside. Then it wobbled, and there was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

Damian crept backward, but his boot hit a wet spot and he lost traction.

“Robin!”

Damian’s cape pulled taut, and it was his only saving grace when a bullet shot straight through the slide’s walls, narrowly missing Damian’s stomach. Tim hauled him up out of reach.

“Time to go.”

Damian couldn’t argue.

He scrambled up the slide after Tim, only pausing a second to allow Red Robin enough time to throw a smoke bomb ahead of their exit. Rebreathers in place, he followed Tim out into the open air.

Another gunshot went off. Red Robin flinched in front of him, but it didn’t slow his momentum. The older boy leapt over the iron railing and dove to the ground to face their pursuers head-on. Damian ran further down the play structure and waited until Red Robin had pushed the man back far enough he could swing around the fire pole and use the momentum to kick the man across the head.

The man fell hard.

Damian landed easily and wiped his hands off. “Tt.”

The other man, the one who had arrived earlier, was already across the field lining the playground. Ran at the first sign of trouble. As Damian watched, Red Robin’s grapple hook wrapped around his legs, and the man fell.

Smirking, Damian looked to Tim, ready to offer a quip. He paused at what he saw.

“You’re bleeding.”

Tim’s jaw twitched. His grapple fell from a lax hand. “Just a flesh wound.”

It was not.

Even as he said the words, his leg buckled underneath himself. Damian dove in to catch his shoulders before he hit the ground.

Tim clamped a hand over his thigh, but it wasn’t enough to stop blood from seeping out between his gloved fingers. “This would happen.”

Damian shifted Tim’s weight, pulling the taller boy’s arm over his shoulder as support. It didn’t really work; the height difference too great. “I will have to carry you.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, right.”

But they didn’t really have any other options.

So Damian crouched down in front of Tim. He braced himself on his knees. “Here.”

Tim just stood there. “I can’t believe you’re offering me a piggyback ride.”

Damian grit his teeth. “I can still leave you here. I could call B—”

“That’s a low blow.” Tim braced one hand over Damian’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”

Damian scoot back underneath him more, so Tim’s front was resting against his back. “Hurry, before I change my mind.”

Tim still hesitated. But when he leapt up with one foot, Damian was easily able to catch him underneath the thighs. Tim hissed at the pressure on his leg. “Watch it!”

“TT. Hold on.”

Tim wrapped his arms around Damian’s neck. When Damian stood, he could not straighten his posture lest he risk overbalancing, but he held Tim’s weight relatively easily. “This should not be so easy. When is the last time you ate?”

Tim was quiet. That’s when Damian knew the time to joke was over. “Red Robin?”

“You know, I don’t know?”

Damian pushed Tim up a little so he could reach the treats in his pocket. The dog was watching them, and he could tell by its silhouette it didn’t like them. “You should take better care of yourself.”

Finding the treats, he threw one over for the dog. It sniffed it before gently picking it up and trotting over to sit next to its felled master to eat.

“Because I’m useless as a crimefighter when I haven’t eaten?”

“Because you’re a human and your body requires nourishment.” When Tim didn’t answer, Damian jostled the load on his back. “You are not allowed to lose consciousness.”

Tim hummed behind him. “I’m going to call the police, let them know they’re here.”

It was clearly deflection, but Damian let it slide. Blood loss, after all.

The smaller boy carried Tim past the playground, out of the park. He picked through the city, trying to keep out of sight. It was a quiet night, but they were compromised. He did not want to give any idling criminals ideas.

For the most part, Tim remained silent. Damian tapped his legs every few minutes, and Tim tapped his chest back. Still here.

When they had reached a safe house, Damian carefully lowered Tim onto the fire escape outside the apartment so he could open the window.

“Thanks.”

Damian stopped fiddling with the locking mechanism in his surprise. Then he doubled down his efforts to cover his hesitation. “TT. You must be delirious from blood loss.”

“No, really,” Tim whispered. “Thank you.”

The window slid open on silent hinges. Damian stepped through to make sure it was safe, and stepped out again to help Tim through. “You do not need to thank me. I am only doing this so Father does not bench me, as well.”

Tim pushed his cowl back to reveal a look of pain. “Oh, God. I hadn’t even thought of that. He’s going to kill me. You should have just left me to bleed out.”

Damian dragged Tim to the bathroom, where he forced him to lie down so he could examine the wound. It wasn’t as bad as they had thought. The bullet had sliced a deep cut across the exterior of Tim’s thigh. Nothing a good compression bandage and a few weeks’ rest couldn’t fix. “I would not do that.”

Tim went quiet again. Damian pulled out his first aid kit and began working on his leg. “I was serious. You really should take better care of yourself.”

Tim’s face screwed up. “Never thought I would hear that from you.”

Damian frowned. “Despite our history, I do not wish you ill.”

A sigh. “I know that.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Damian finished dressing the wound. He helped Tim sit up against the bathroom tiles, and fished out some painkillers (and light sedatives) for him.

Tim downed them dry. After making a face at the taste, he bluntly asked, “Are you going to tell Bruce?”

Damian studied the wall next to Tim’s head. He knew Tim was talking about more than the immediate wound. “Not yet.” He sliced his gaze to make eye contact with Tim. “A night’s rest, and then I will make a decision.”

It was no promise. Tim nodded in acknowledgement. “Okay.”

Damian acted as a support so Tim could stand, and together they hobbled over to the couch in the sparse living room.

They didn’t sit long before Tim slurred, “You drugged me.”

Damian smirked. “Technically, you drugged yourself.”

Tim groaned, sliding further down the couch. “Still beats spending the night with Bruce when he’s high on Nyquil.”

On that, Damian could agree.

He waited until Tim was asleep to send a quick message to Alfred about their whereabouts and Tim’s injury. Then he pulled a blanket from the bedroom and draped it over Tim’s body before stumbling to bed himself.

There was a conversation to be had in the morning, but it could wait. It had been a long night, after all, and Damian could not risk being made a hypocrite.

Rest it was.