#i won't leave you

[zumazozuma]

🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥹🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

[whump-about-it]

Heart Racing/ On the Run/ “We’re Being Watched”/ “I Won’t Leave You”

@whumpril day 25 and 26 (a little late)

CW: implied torture, imprisonment, blood, broken bones, gunshot wounds, blood loss. 

They had made a mistake putting two prisoners who spoke the same language in a cell together.

To be fair, the guards hadn’t known. It wasn’t like the languages a person spoke was listed on their papers. And it wasn’t the official language of either the country they were from nor the one they’d been captured in. A and B hadn’t even realized the other spoke it until A overheard B slip into it during a particularly rough interrogation session several months into their internment together.

The escape planning had begun as soon as B had become lucid again.

It had been months of the two of them whispering in low voices between the patrol rounds. At night, when the guards were half asleep on duty and didn't notice the incomprehensible jabber as conversation. And under the cover of other prisoners screams.

They thought they had planned for everything. But as soon as their escape had begun things had started to go awry.

They had gotten out. By some miracle they had gotten out. But now they were on the run through an unfamiliar town in enemy territory in the middle of the night, with guards at their heels, and A was falling behind.

"This way" B hissed before taking a hard left into a particularly dark ally. They had grabbed A's hand at some point to make sure they kept up, so the direction wasn't strictly necessary, but A was stumbling so much as it was B was afraid the sudden change in direction would cause them to face plant in the street.

B turned them into the ally and used their momentum to propel A into the wall behind a stack of crates. To A's credit, they didn't make a noise, but B could see their face contort in pain and feel the air leave their lungs as they pushed their own body against theirs trying to make it appear to anyone who may actually notice them there as though they were out of breathe for completely different reasons.

A either understood what B was trying to do, or they were worse off than B thought because as soon as A pressed their body to theirs they snaked their good arm around B’s shoulders and placed a not insignificant amount of their weight on B.

A tried to pull them closer as best they could with their own good arm. Their other one had been broken, they suspected in multiple places, when they fell from the window during the escape. Their forearm was completely swollen and they could feel their heart racing in it. Adrenaline had dulled most of the pain for now, as it had for their ankle, which was at the very least twisted if not also broken, but with their arm sandwiched between their and A’s heaving torso’s they couldn’t help but let out a silent gasp of pain.

“Are you alright?” A breathed in B’s ear.

“My arm” B breathed back. “You?”

A only shook their head and tightened their grip around B’s shoulders. Back on the street the guards ran past shouting directions to one another, unaware of the pretend lovers pulling each other closer in the ally only feet away.

The back of A’s shirt was soaked in blood. As B squeezed the fabric, blood dripped into their hand and ran down their wrist. A had been shot in the shoulder during the escape. The bullet had missed all their vital organs and A had insisted they would be okay. But now, sandwiched between B and the wall, B could feel how much blood they were loosing, How much their legs were shaking trying to stay upright, and the irregular beating of their racing heart. Even for having been running it felt like it was beating too fast. 

The voices of the guards faded down some other side street one of them had insisted they’d seen their prey going down and B made to pull away from A to figure out their next move. Before they could move more than a centimeter though A tightened their grip on B’s shoulders and held them in place. 

“We’re being watched.” They breathed. B heart skipped a beat and glanced at the dark street. It seemed empty of even the rats. The depths of the ally was so dark B couldn’t make out anything to tell if A was seeing things or not. 

“Where?” They shifted their weight to take on more of A’s as one of their legs began to shake more. 

“The second story window” A mumbled. B held their possession and tried to glance at the windows in the ally. One of the windows was open a crack, and the curtains swayed in the breeze, but B couldn’t make out whether anyone was standing there. 

“They’re going to come back and start checking alleys soon” B told A. They were concerned by A seeing something they clearly couldn’t, but were trying to give them the benefit of the doubt and continued to hold their position. “We have to move.”

A shook their head again. 

“I don’t think I can” They whispered. “Everything’s spinning”  

B’s still racing heart began to beat faster. Between their arm and their ankle they didn’t think they could carry A. The adrenaline was already starting to wear off and their previously only uncomfortable ankle was beginning to feel like it would shatter if B moved it in the wrong way. 

“Just hang in there a little longer. We’ll find a place to hide.” 

Again, A shook their head and swallowed thickly. They slipped an inch farther down the wall and gasped raggedly as the movement aggravated their wound. 

“Leave me” they whispered. Their voice was already getting weaker. “I’ll slow you down.” 

“No. If they catch you they’ll kill you.” 

“I’m not sure I’m going make it as is” With that A’s legs finally gave out. B tried to catch them but their own injuries prevented them from being able to do much and the two collapsed to the ground with muffled groans of pain. With their rouse of being intimate shattered, B leaned away from A enough to look at their sweaty face. Their skin almost glowed from how colorless it was and their eyes didn’t look totally focused. 

B’s stomach flipped. The two of them hadn’t been friends. They hadn’t even known each other prior to being forced to share a tiny windowless cell. But at this point A was the only friendly face B knew. Probably the only person who even knew they were alive. They’d spent months planning this, gone through every eventuality. They had thought of everything. But they had always planned on doing it together. Now at the eleventh hour, with everything having gone wrong, B found they couldn’t abandon that. 

“I won’t leave you” B told A with as much conviction as they could manage in a whisper. 

B tried to smile and their eyes slid closed. 

“We knew the risks” Their voice was beginning to slur “At least one of us should get away.” 

B opened their mouth to argue. However before they could say anything, a door somewhere in the alley squealed open and a face, dimly lit by a single candle poked out. B’s heart stopped. A had been right all along, someone had been watching them. They should have taken them seriously and done something about it when they had the chance. Now they were caught and they had no weapons. Nothing to fight with. And they were too injured themselves do anything even if they did. They thought for a second that it was finally over. The person in the door way was going to alert the guards and A and B were going to be dragged back and executed. 

But when the person spoke, it was in a low whisper, and in the same language A and B shared.  

“You’re friend needs help” They said. It wasn’t a question. “Come. The guards will be back any minute.” 

B blinked at the person, then glanced at A who had gone motionless and limp between them and the wall. They could still feel their heart racing in their chest. It was beating too fast for how long they had been standing still. 

“I’m a friend.” The person insisted. “Come.”  

Even with a shared language, B wasn’t sure they could trust the person. But with A passed out, and the voices of the guards become louder in the distance, They were running out of options. 

“I can’t lift them.” They told the person in the doorway. Without question the stranger stepped from their doorway and into the alley. B, stumbled backwards as the stranger approached them. They lifted A into their arms as though they weighed nothing and turned to B. 

“Can you stand?” 

B nodded, and managed to get to their feet. Pain shot up their ankle in protest to them putting weight on it and they almost fell down again, but managed to limp after the stranger as they carried A back into the building they had come from. 

“Why are you helping us?” B asked once they were inside what appeared to be the storage room for a shop. 

“I heard the two of you talking” the stranger said. “I haven’t heard anyone speak my mother tongue in years. They don’t like it when people speak languages other than their own.” The stranger nodded towards the ever louder voices outside as they laid A down gently on a table, trying to identify the source of all the blood. “We help our own right?” 

B nodded somewhat absently. Their arm and ankle were hurting so badly, and A was looking only minutes from death on the table. The stranger seemed to know what they were doing though as they produced a pair of scissors and cut off A’s shirt. 

“Thank you” B breathed. 

“Of course. You can call me Caretaker, by the way.” 

[downfalldestiny]

I won't ,

I .. Always stay ❤️ !.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2023 - Day 26

@that-one-thespian requested this one!! I haven't gotten to play with Zuriel in a while so this was super fun c:

TWs: Blood, gore, self-sacrifice, human shield

Explosion | Short on Time | “I won’t leave you!”

Zuriel was hurt. Golden feathers dripped silvery, angelic blood onto the alleyway ground. The demon in front of Mariano was far stronger and larger than he could hope to face down. He squared his shoulders and took a breath, fire flying through his veins as his hunting knife lit up. He couldn't let one of this demon's arrows hit Zuriel.

"Mariano you, you have to get out of here." Zuriel whimpered, breath hitching as he struggled to stay standing. They'd been running, trying to find safety. The light from Zuriel's halo trembled behind Mariano.

It looked like time had run out.

"I won't leave you." Mariano said. Zuriel hadn't ever abandoned him.

Mariano darted forward, magic blasting from his other palm. It struck the horned being's face, sending them reeling back and scrabbling at their skin with pain. He leaped, swiping at their abdomen with his blade. He didn't let up.

If you give your opponents a moment to think, you've already lost.

Luis' training echoed in Mariano's head as he stabbed and slashed, gutting the being that had been so doggedly hunting them. All he had to do was injure them enough to open an escape. Bastian wasn't far, now. He was getting closer by the second. Mariano's knife darted upwards, hooking the demon's breastbone and beginning to eat through it.

Their hand caught his wrist, the other wrapping around his throat and lifting him up effortlessly. Blood poured from their body, glowing a brilliant emerald color. Eyes that matched narrowed, jagged teeth bared in glee.

"Not today, little panther." They purred, their nose almost brushing Mariano's. "You fought well though."

Effortlessly, they threw Mariano.

"No!" Zuriel shouted, staggering backwards towards Mariano as his flight abruptly ended against the alleyway wall. He dropped to the ground, stunned. "No--please..."

Zuriel looked back towards the demon, feathers trembling as he spread his wings. His stance widened as he drew his sword. The demon drew their bow.

Just behind him, Mariano shakily rose to his feet, eyes burning. He saw the twitch of the demon's fingers as a burning arrow appeared, and his body moved before he could even think. He grabbed the back of Zuriel's collar, yanking the angel backwards as he launched himself forward.

Mariano watched the demon's fingers move. He saw the glowing green arrow fly through the air. He felt the searing, acrid burn explode through his chest before he realized he'd fallen to his knees. Trembling, he reached for his shoulder, fingers passing through the wicked body of the arrow.

He couldn't stand up again. The sparks flying through his chest kept brushing against something awful and deep, like it was trying to bite at his pact with Bastian. It sapped his strength, pulled his magic away from his hands.

Zuriel was shouting something, ever-careful hands gripping Mariano's shoulders. Dazed, Mariano looked up in time to see a purple, smoky mass tackle the bloodied form of the demon. "What..." Mariano mumbled. "What was...magic?" Was Bastian there? Something else?

He heard screaming.

It almost felt like he'd taken too many pact dampeners. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, to keep track of where Bastian was. Zuriel was hovering above him. When had he laid down?

"Keep, keep your eyes on me." Zuriel said, one hand glowing with his soft, golden magic. "Don't fall asleep. This might not feel good."

The moment that Zuriel's magic met Mariano's chest, Mariano arched off the ground. It ripped a choked scream from him, his hands twisting into his own bloodied shirt. As the green glow faded and a soft warmth replaced it, Mariano went slack under Zuriel's hands.

Zuriel's look of relief came into sharper focus as the sheer exhaustion started to ebb away. "You--is it working?" Zuriel asked, as if he hadn't expected that to help.

"I'm...you're okay." Mariano breathed. He looked the angel trainee up and down, checking for any sickly green glow. "They didn't...you're not hurt."

Zuriel shook his head, blond curls vibrating as he shook. His eyes started to fill with tears. "I'm not hurt. Don't, please don't ever do that again."

Mariano couldn't promise that. He just nodded, reaching up to pull Zuriel into a hug. As Zuriel's bloody wings shook and the shouts from outside the alleyway cut off, Mariano couldn't bring himself to promise that it would never happen again.

Not when he could survive an arrow like that and Zuriel couldn't.

[b3dh3d]

To all the starwars fans....

Suffer lmao

[drabbles-mc]

Won't Leave You Behind

Summary: When an op goes wrong and Steve gets left behind, the rest of his troop is left to call on the only team that is capable of getting him out in one piece. (military/no powers AU)

Warnings: 18+, angst (with a happy/hopeful ending), language, war/violence, hospitals, blood/injury

For the Alternate June-iverse Event Prompt: search & recsue

For @whumpril Day 26: short on time / explosion / "I won't leave you"

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Not me going into this fic telling myself that I wasn't going to get carried away and then getting extremely carried away. 😂 But I really did have so much fun creating this universe. It also gave me a change to include some of my other MCU faves so that was fun! I feel like I should preface this with the fact that I took every creative freedom known to man with the military aspects of this. It's fanfic we're just here to have a good time haha. Hope you enjoy! Also, shout-out to @buckybarnesevents for hosting this event! xo

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The medics area was controlled chaos. It’d gone from relatively quiet to anything but that when Sam’s team came back from their last mission out. Well, when what was left of Sam’s team had come back. No one had gotten any clear-cut answers yet as to what had happened, but the doctors who were running around tending to everyone’s wounds could take a pretty good guess.

Sam was lying on the table, trying his best to be a good patient as the doctor pulled a piece of shrapnel out of his side. A few centimeters in a different direction, and Sam knew that he wouldn’t have made it back to base. He would’ve been left behind just like—

“Everyone make it back?” Clint asked as he strode up to where Sam was laying, effectively cutting his train of thought short.

Sam’s grip on the bed beneath him tightened as he tried not to move and flinch from the pain of having his wounds tended to. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head as he forced out, “N-not everyone.”

Clint’s brows knit as he looked out over the medical bay. He tried to do a quick headcount, but with all of the moving bodies he knew it wasn’t going to happen. “Who?”

He shut his eyes tightly, partially from the pain, partially from just not wanting to say it. “Rogers.”

Clint’s lips immediately dropped to a frown as Sam’s answer hit him. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Was he alive when you left?”

“Wasn’t gonna be for long.”

He hated how callous it sounded, but he knew that he couldn’t compromise the safety of the rest of his men any more than he already had because there was a slight chance that Steve was going to rally and be able to make it back with them. They’d hardly been able to get themselves out of the hot-zone—there was no chance he was risking going back into it. Not even for Steve.

There were going to be a thousand and one questions that Sam was going to have to answer. Those questions were going to be coming from people that were higher up in the chain of command than either Sam or Clint were. That’s how it always went with ops—if it went wrong, upper command got to come in and give the third degree and ream everyone out, but if it went right, upper command got to reap all the credit for it. It was a flawed system but it was the only one that they all had. None of them were doing this for the credit, anyway.

Sam finally pried his eyes open and looked over at Clint. The pain was still there but there was something else in his expression too as he said, “I didn’t wanna leave him there, Barton, but…”

Clint shook his head. “I know.”

“If I was good enough, or any of my guys, to go back and try to get him out, we would’ve. But you see this,” he gestured with one arm at the rest of the medical bay, “It would’ve been a suicide mission.”

“Think someone else would be able to get him out?” Clint asked.

Sam looked at him, curiosity almost outweighing the pain he was in. Almost. It was like he could almost actually see the cartoon lightbulb appear above Clint’s head. “Maybe. Why?”

“Barnes and his team might be able to get him back.”

Sam’s confusion only intensified. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Barnes?”

Clint nodded. “Sergeant Barnes and his team are almost exclusively search and rescue now. Best extraction team we’ve got. They’re dedicated almost solely to getting back soldiers that have been taken or left behind.”

“Success rate?”

“They’re still around, aren’t they?”

Sam couldn’t argue with that logic. He gave Clint a nod, and before he could even give him any kind of direction or next step, Clint was off and searching for the people who would, hopefully, be the solution to their problem.

The doctor who had been tending to him stepped away only a few moments after Clint had left. Sam tried to take advantage of the few seconds where no one was talking to him, prodding at him or stitching him up. He knew that it was the last few seconds of peace that he was going to get for a while now.

A few minutes later, Sam heard a few different sets of footsteps getting closer. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked to see who it was. His eyes widened slightly at the small team of soldiers heading in his direction. He had to assume that the man leading the pack was the Sergeant that Clint had told him about. He certainly carried himself like someone of importance.

Sam looked him over as he approached, unable to miss the metal arm and hand that was at his side. There was a story there, he knew that for sure. And even though Sam didn’t know what the story was, there was something about it that had him thinking that this man was cut out to survive just about anything.

He strode right up next to the bed that Sam was laying on, the rest of the team except for the woman right next to him falling back. Whoever they were, Sam could tell that they ran like a well-oiled machine. They all did—it was the nature of the job, but sometimes they came across people who just had an extra level to them that not everyone else did. Sam had the feeling that even though Barnes had a small team, each member of it had that extra level.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Sam said it like a question as he held his hand out for him to shake.

He nodded, reaching with his right hand and giving Sam’s a firm shake. “Wilson?”

“Yea.”

Bucky clasped his hands in front of him as he spoke. “Heard a man got left behind.”

Sam felt himself get defensive at the phrasing. There was no malice in Bucky’s tone, or even in his expression, but the wounds were still fresh enough for it to feel like a dig. Sam tried not to act on his emotions as he answered. “Yea, Rogers. It,” he shook his head, “it was a fucking mess out there. It all went sideways so fast. It was either risk everyone, or—”

“I get it,” Bucky cut him off with a nod. “Triage.”

Sam nodded, feeling a little less tense. “Triage.”

Bucky nodded towards the exit of the medic area, “Barton said you thought there was a chance someone could get him out?”

Sam took a deep breath, slowly situating himself so that he was sitting fully upright. “I mean, maybe. It was messy getting out. Explosions, I thought the whole damn thing was going to come down.” He paused, looking at Bucky, then at the rest of his team. “I don’t want to send you guys into something you won’t come out of, but I also can’t sit here and tell you that I don’t want to get my last man back.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll talk to your captain. Get the coordinates.” He shook Sam’s hand again. “We’ll bring him home.”

There was something about the way that Bucky moved and spoke that had Sam believing him when he wouldn’t have had the same faith in most other people. “Thank you.”

When Bucky walked away, Sam assumed that the rest of his team was going to be short to follow. And most of them were, except for the woman who was still standing by his bedside. She had yet to say anything to him, but Sam knew that she had been studying him the entire time.

Not knowing what else to do, he extended his hand out to her. “Wilson.”

She nodded as she shook his hand, the action brief as she introduced herself. “Romanoff.”

That was a name he recognized. He couldn’t hide it on his face, either. He never knew what circumstances would arise that would ever put the two of them in each other’s paths, but he certainly never thought it would be something like this. He’d heard enough about her, the damage she was capable of inflicting. She was one of the army’s most lethal assets, so Sam couldn’t help but to wonder how she ended up on a team that was dedicated to search and rescue. From the things he’d heard, she should’ve been scorching earth somewhere.

“Didn’t think you did extraction,” he finally said.

She shrugged. “Times change. Got too difficult to sleep—figured I would try to balance the scales a little bit.”

He nodded to where Bucky was standing talking to the commanding officers. “That why he pulled this team together?”

She shook her head. “No. Couple years back, Barnes was the one who got left behind. Cost him his arm, almost cost him his life.” She took a deep breath as she watched Bucky looking through the files he was being handed. “No one came for him—he got himself out. No one in their right mind thought that he was going to try and come back after what he’d been through, but he did. This team was his idea, and he was convincing enough that nobody was telling him no.”

“That how he got you to say yes?” he asked. “Or did you go to him?”

A tiny smirk curled her lips. “Depends who you ask.” She paused, looking back to Sam after looking at Bucky. “I went to him.” She gripped the edges of the tac-vest strapped across her chest. “We get a forty-eight hour window to go in and do what we get sent in to do before we’re declared missing or killed in action. Hasn’t come to that yet, though. We keep it simple—recovery only, no extra frills.”

Sam had a million more questions that he wanted to ask her, but he didn’t get the chance as Bucky called over, “Romanoff. Let’s go.”

Looking back over at Bucky, she nodded to let him know that she’d heard him before turning her attention back to Sam. “We’ll get him back.”

Sam nodded. “I believe you.”

Bucky was behind the wheel as they made their way towards the coordinates that they had been given. Natasha rode shotgun while the rest of their team rode in the back of the covered truck. They went over the run-down of the plan, the alternatives for if and when things inevitably hit the fan. The specifics changed with each mission, but the general layout was always the same. Their designated roles had worked well so far. If it’s not broke, no need to try and fix it.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Natasha spoke up as she watched Bucky staring intently at the land surrounding the road they were on.

He shook his head, not looking over at her as he said, “Just focused.”

She frowned, not believing him but not looking to cause an argument when they were approaching such a precarious point. She conceded with a simple, “Okay,” and decided that if she was going to press him about it, she’d do it later.

Sam and his team hadn’t been lying about the carnage. Sam’s team might’ve been the ones that had to retreat, but it looked like whoever they had run up against had lost their fair share of men in the mess of it all anyway. There were buildings on their last legs, and Bucky had the pervasive feeling that they were going to have to go into one of them to find who they were looking for. It wouldn’t be the worst setting they found themselves in, but the inherent lack of structural stability put a whole other layer of danger on top of whoever they might find themselves up against.

The deeper they went into the zone, the more Bucky couldn’t help but to think that Sam’s team was lucky that everyone else had made it out alive. The injuries it all caused were going to be quite the thing to contend with, but judging by the debris, it was a miracle that only one man got left behind. More than that, it was something else entirely that he might still be alive.

Once they reached the site, Bucky found himself following the footprints left behind until he came across the blood. The longer that he followed that trail, with each hallway and stairwell he came across, the more unlikely it became that when he found Steve that he was going to be alive. He didn’t give up hope, though—he knew better than that. Plus, no matter what the outcome was, Bucky knew that he wasn’t going back to the base empty-handed. Everyone deserved answers, closure, no matter how the situation ended up playing out.

Natasha and Bucky were paired up as usual, always the ones to go deepest into the mess, only calling for the next pair in the stagger if things got too volatile for just the two of them to handle alone. They moved quickly but cautiously, trying to make their footfalls as silent as possible as they traversed the rocks and rubble left behind by everything that had happened earlier.

They both froze when they heard the sound of footsteps, other voices not terribly close by, but still too close for comfort. They were a few hallways away. Bucky and Natasha stood and waited, hoping that they would pass, recede far enough to the point where they wouldn’t be a tangible threat to them anymore, just a looming one. After a few more moments, they both came to the conclusion at the same time that while whoever it was, wasn’t getting closer, they also weren’t retreating either.

“Go,” Natasha whispered with a nod. “I’ll backtrack and post up in case they get too close.”

“We don’t split up,” he argued quietly.

She shook her head. “I won’t be far. Besides, judging by the blood,” she nodded towards the red streaks on the ground, “we aren’t far from him.”

“If things go wrong—”

“You’ll hear it,” she finished the sentence for him, although it wasn’t what he was actually going to say. “Go. We’re all short on time, but Rogers especially.”

Bucky knew that she was right, that there was no time to argue. He was just going to have to trust that if things really did start going south, she would handle it or he would be able to get back to her in time to help her handle it. They’d always figured it out so far.

He followed the trail to the end of the hallway until he came to a closed door. He lowered his gun for a moment, holding it with just one hand as he used the other to reach for the doorknob. It wasn’t locked, but when he tried to push the door open, he was met with resistance. Something was behind it—Steve was attempting to block anyone from getting it. It would’ve been a smart move if Bucky had been someone who wasn’t there to rescue him.

The impulse to barge clean through the door was there. It would’ve been easy to do, but it also would’ve stripped away any anonymity that their team still had. So, instead, he slowly tried to force the door open. There was resistance, but he was able to get it part of the way open. He almost had it opened enough to get in when he heard someone moving on the other side, and then felt someone pushing back against him.

He froze for a moment, trying to think of what the next best move would be. He pushed against the door again, listening intently to try and catch any other sounds coming from the other side. When he gave another small push, he heard someone let out a grunt of pain. It was reassuring in a strange way, because it meant that it was most likely the injured man he was looking for, not someone else who was looking to harm everyone present.

“Rogers?” Bucky spoke quietly as he pressed his shoulder into the door again. He paused and waited for a response he assumed wasn’t going to come. “Wilson sent me.” Another small push. Another lack of response from the person on the other side of the door. “My name is Sergeant Barnes. I’m here to get you home.”

It was silent for a few more seconds, and it crossed Bucky’s mind that he might just have to push his way in and hope for the best. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone fought back against being rescued out of fear. He couldn’t blame them, these people who were left to their own devices and taught that when in doubt, assume everyone is a threat, were just doing what they had been trained to do. He was asking them to go against all those months of training, against the rewiring of their instincts. It wasn’t easy—he knew that firsthand.

“I’m gonna push the door open,” he said honestly, “so you should probably move.”

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he could hear shuffling behind the door. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that that meant he wasn’t going to be met with any kind of resistance when he entered, but it was a win for now. Taking a deep breath, he gave another push, enough to make the doorway wide enough for him to slip through with ease.

Once he was inside, he brought his other hand back to his gun. He didn’t raise it, didn’t want to put that energy out there, but he also needed to be ready for the worst-case scenario. Looking around, he didn’t immediately see the man he’d been sent to rescue. Bucky assumed that he was crouched behind something, ducking and waiting to be on the defensive. That’s what Bucky would’ve done if the roles were reversed.

“Rogers?” he said, voice still quiet. He took a couple slow, calculated steps deeper into the room. “We don’t have a lot of time. You know that better than anyone, right?” Another step. “So, let’s get you out of here.”

Bucky could hear Steve’s breathing now, labored and shallow. He stepped around an overturned cabinet and came face-to-face with the whole reason anyone came back at all. Steve was sitting on the ground, back against the wall, gun pointed directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky held his hands up in surrender for a moment before slowly moving to holster his gun, telling Steve exactly what he was doing as he was doing it. Neither of them took their eyes off the other. Bucky had skimmed over Steve’s file. What he’d read didn’t sync up with the man shuddering in front of him, and that’s how he knew how dire the situation really was. While Steve’s eyes didn’t waver from Bucky’s face, Bucky couldn’t help but to notice the fact that there was blood coming from Steve’s side, and from his thigh. At first glance, he couldn’t tell if it was shrapnel or if they were bullet wounds—there was too much blood. That was for the medics to figure out anyway.

“We’re just here to help, Rogers.”

Steve’s hands were shaking around his gun, from nerves or blood loss was anyone’s guess. “Sam sent you?” he asked, finally speaking even though his voice came out strained.

Bucky nodded, relief showing in every facet of his body and facial expression. “He did.”

The trembling in Steve’s hands intensified for a moment and then he finally lowered his gun. His muscles went slack, and suddenly he looked even smaller than he had before, which was an impressive feat for a man who wasn’t small at all.

Neither of them said anything as Bucky crouched down to help get Steve back on his feet. Bucky draped Steve’s arm over his shoulders, slipping his own arm across Steve’s back to brace him. The metal of his hand was harsh against the bruised and scraped skin of Steve’s back, but they both knew that the little bit of extra strength and power was going to be what allowed Bucky to keep Steve upright, what would give them the ability to get out fast enough so that they didn’t lose their window.

Steve was gripping onto the fabric that covered Bucky’s shoulder, balling it in his fist like it was an anchor. Every limped step forward towards the door felt like a herculean effort. It crossed his mind that he had done all this work to get so far away from it all, trying to get out of harm’s way, and now he was going to have to double-back and go through it all over again. He didn’t know if he was going to have the strength for that. He didn’t know if he was going to make it, if the blood loss was finally going to get to him.

“You with me?” Bucky asked, almost like he could hear Steve’s thoughts.

“Sarge, I don’t know if—”

“Bucky,” he cut Steve’s thought short.

“What?”

Bucky grunted as he pulled the door open a little wider to allow them both to slip through without causing Steve to slam any of his injuries against the doorframe in the process. “Call me Bucky. Everyone on my team calls me Bucky, and you’re on my team now.”

Steve nodded, trying as best he could to help them both get through the door and down the hall in the most coordinated fashion that they could manage. “Bucky, I don’t know if I’m going to make it back.”

“You will,” he said with all the certainty in the world.

“But—”

“I’ve never lost a member of my team, Rogers. Everyone always makes it home.” The one way or another was implied, but Bucky never left anyone behind. That was the whole point of it, after all.

Steve tried to take a deep breath, tried not to think about how unsteady it was, the way that it stuttered in his throat on the way down. He knew better than to waste energy on arguing with the man who was carrying him, especially when he didn’t have any energy to spare, and also when it seemed like Bucky wasn’t the type of man to lose an argument.

They were just about to reach the end of the hallway when the muffled quiet of the building was broken by the sounds of gunfire. Both Bucky and Steve hesitated at the same time. They looked at each other, each trying to figure out what the best plan of action was going to be.

“Could use a hand out here, Bucky!” Natasha’s voice rose above all the rest of it.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed under his breath. He looked at Steve, determination in his eyes and the set of his jaw as he said, “We’re gonna keep going.”

“You can’t risk that,” Steve argued, not that it mattered much because Bucky was still continuing to get them both down the hallway. “It’s not,” he sucked in a breath, “it’s not worth it. You need to get your team out of here.”

“You’re my team too.”

Steve admired the attempt Bucky was making to try and give him something extra to cling onto, but in Steve’s mind it wasn’t the time for that. “Your real team.”

Bucky shook his head as he reached with his free hand to unholster his gun. “We don’t leave anyone behind.”

The gunfire got louder the closer they got to it. Steve hadn’t ever felt so useless. He reached for his weapon as well, knowing full-well that if push came to shove it wasn’t going to do him much good. Still, he couldn’t go into a firefight empty-handed.

Natasha spared a split-second glance over her shoulder when she heard the footsteps behind her, just long enough to confirm that it was someone who was on her side. “Good,” she said, eyes already back facing front as she quickly reloaded her gun, “you found him.”

“Yea,” Bucky waited until he saw a flash of someone trying to dart from one room to the other, pulling the trigger and being rewarded with the sight of them collapsing to the floor. “He tried to tell me to leave him.”

She shook her head, still leading their little trio and firing as she went. “We don’t do that.”

They were almost to the stairwell, almost to a few precious moments of safety, when there was a gunshot that was followed by the sound of Steve letting out a grunt of pain. He slumped even heavier against Bucky, nearly causing them both to go down. Bucky managed to brace himself, knowing that he needed to figure out what just happened but he wasn’t going to be doing triage in the middle of a gunfight.

“Nat,” he said.

That was all she needed. “Got it,” she responded with a nod as she maneuvered so that she was standing behind them, covering their backs while Bucky got them to the door that put them in the stairwell. It felt like it took longer to cover the last few feet of the hall than everything else leading up to that moment combined.

The door clanged shut behind the three of them and it was only then that Bucky let out the breath he’d been holding. He slowly lowered Steve to the ground so he could try and get a better look at his injuries.

“Where?” Bucky asked as he looked Steve over.

Steve winced through the pain as he brought his hand to his thigh, the same one that was already injured. Sure enough, Bucky could see the fresh blood that was coming out of it. His mind was going at a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what to do, trying to come up with something that he could tie it off with.

“Here.” Natasha tossed him the rope she carried in the pack that was strapped to her. Every member of the team carried some version of an escape tool along with their weapons. It was just good logistics. “Cut a piece of that and tie his leg off.”

Bucky was grabbing his knife to do it before she even finished the direction. Steve watched him, shaking his head. All the effort they were putting in and he still had the feeling that he wasn’t going to make it anyway.

“You two should go,” he said, gritting his teeth as he felt Bucky starting to tie the rope off around his leg. “Get yourselves back while you can.”

“That’s not how it works,” Bucky said as he tightened the rope just a little more, causing Steve to squirm.

“Bucky—”

Bucky pried his eyes away from Steve’s bleeding leg to look into his eyes. The resoluteness in them was enough to silence him before Bucky even said anything. “If one of us makes it back,” he put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, “we both do. If one of us stays behind,” his grip tightened just slightly, “we both do. I told you—I don’t leave anyone behind. I won’t leave without you.”

Steve wanted to argue it. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but there was something about the tone of Bucky’s voice and the look in his eyes that kept him silent. Steve could tell that everything that Bucky was saying to him, he really meant it. It wasn’t just lip-service.

“We’re in this together until we both make it home. ‘Til the end of the line, alright?”

Steve swallowed hard, trying to muster up what little strength he still had. “Alright,” he let Bucky get him back to his feet, “’Til the end of the line.”

Getting down the stairs and out of the building wasn’t easy. The only saving grace was that by the time they hit the ground floor of the building they were in, the next two members of Bucky’s team were there and ready to tag in, help cover them with enough fire to make sure that they all got out alive. It freed Natasha up to help Bucky all but carry Steve out of the building and to their truck. Both of them could feel the way that Steve was supporting himself less and less as the seconds passed, but neither of them commented on it. There was nothing helpful to say about it, so they said nothing at all.

One of Bucky’s men was already behind the wheel, keys in the ignition and engine on in preparation for a quick take-off. That was always the way they operated. Bucky drove them all in, and someone else always drove them all out. A well-oiled machine.

The back tires of their truck kicked up all manner of dust and rocks as they sped off. They could hear the pinging of bullets off the enforced sides of their covered truck as they got away. It only lasted for a short time, the people who were shooting at weren’t that determined to get them. The entire team was considering themselves lucky for that.

Once the bullets stopped, it was silent except for the thrum of the truck’s engine and the tires gripping up the dirt on the road beneath them. No one said anything, which wasn’t unusual. There wasn’t always much to say after a mission. And in this case, like many of them, the mission wasn’t over. There was a lot hanging in the balance on the ride between where they were now and the base that they needed to get to.

They had Steve lying across the seats on one side of the truck, trying to keep him as level and steady as possible. Bucky was watching the wounds in his leg carefully. The rope did a decent enough job of slowing the blood for not being a real tourniquet.

Bucky could see the way that the color was continuing to drain from Steve’s face. He gently shook his shoulder, trying to keep him from slipping into total unconsciousness. “Rogers, come on, stay with me.”

He coughed, eyes still closed. “Steve.”

“What?”

“My name is Steve. My friends call me Steve.”

“Alright, Steve,” Bucky corrected himself, nodding even though Steve’s eyes weren’t open, “stay with me.”

All the begging and bargaining in the world wasn’t going to change how things were going to play out, so Bucky didn’t bother. Instead, he did what he could. He tried to keep Steve awake, tried to ask him questions that he could give one-word answers to in order to keep him talking. He was partially successful, Steve faded in and out a couple times but he kept coming back.

When the truck rolled to a stop back on base, it’d hardly been put in park before medics were ripping the back door of it open. They fired off questions as they carried him inside, questions that Bucky answered with the most precision he could offer.

Within seconds, they’d whisked Steve off to take care of him. Out of sight, certainly not out of mind. Bucky could’ve waited, paced just on the side of the medical bay where he was allowed. Instead, he wove his way back through until he found Sam again still lying on his bed but in much better condition than when Bucky had seen him hours beforehand.

Sam heard Bucky’s footsteps before he saw him, and for a moment he didn’t want to turn and face him, afraid of what the news was going to be. He knew that he couldn’t avoid it forever, though. So he slowly turned, unable to say anything, unable to breathe, counting on Bucky to say something first.

“We got him back,” Bucky said with a nod.

Sam’s body went lax with relief against the mattress. He got himself sitting upright, reaching out and clutching Bucky’s hand in his own, pulling him into a brief embrace. “Thank you.”

Bucky nodded as he took a step back. “It’s what we all do.”

Sam noticed the way that Bucky was looking around, looking towards the door. “You should stay,” he said, “should be here when he wakes up.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment. So often it was one thing and then right off onto the next. There was always more to do, more people to save. But he could spare a few hours, he supposed, before heading off again. If he had to leave, then he would, but for the moment he didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t try to linger and wait.

“Okay.”

Sam gave a nod. “Okay.”

It wasn’t nearly as long as Bucky thought it was going to be. Before he knew it, Steve was stirring in the bed beside the chair that Bucky found himself sitting in. He was nose-deep in a personnel file, Steve’s to be exact.

Steve blinked slowly a few times, eyes adjusting to the light, brain adjusting to consciousness. “Bucky?”

He lifted his eyes from the folder in his hands, letting it drop to his lap as he looked over at Steve. “Told you we’d make it back.”

Steve chuckled, nodding as he slowly shifted himself so that he was sitting somewhat upright. “You did say that, yea.” He cleared his throat, wincing slightly as he did. “Thank you, for saving me.”

Bucky never really knew how to handle the thank-you’s. It wasn’t what he did it for, but he knew that they always came. “Every man in, every man out.”

“Every time?” Steve asked.

He nodded. “Every time.”

Steve let his head rest back against the wall, letting his eyes shut for a moment. “Your team is lucky.”

Bucky let out a small chuckle. Lucky wasn’t exactly the word he’d use to describe his team, not with some of the asks that he put on them, not with the circumstances he dropped in their laps on a regular basis. “Don’t know if they’d say the same thing.”

“They would,” Steve replied, a certainty in his voice that Bucky hadn’t had the opportunity to head when he was knocking on death’s door.

“I told you, Steve, you’re part of that team now too.”

Steve nodded, still not opening his eyes, still not turning to look directly at Bucky. “Guess that means I’m also lucky.”

[unsungbabe]

Cherish | I Won’t Leave You from their Unreleased Album, The Moment (2003)

[kayamark]

Whumpcember day 10 - "I won't leave you"

Harry Potter and the goblet of fire (2005)

[sylvanfreckles]

Day 10 "I Won't Leave"

Part 10 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: T Warnings: Being buried alive, minor self-harm

Summary: Dorian survived being buried alive, though the experience left him wounded in both body and soul. Cyrus proves remarkably capable at helping him put himself back together. (Sequel to Buried Alive and Muffled Screams from Febuwhump 2022) (Read on AO3)

...

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

The space was too tight, too small. He couldn’t move without knocking into the sides of his prison. Time stretched out endlessly in the empty darkness, with the echoed rasp of his breathing his only company.

His breathing….

Dorian sucked in a shaking breath and tried to hold it. He didn’t need to breath, not really…not in places like this. But his breath burned in his lungs, and after a few short seconds he was coughing it out to suck in another.

The air was warm and damp. Musty. It tasted of wet wool and woodsmoke, not of earth and decay.

He tried to hold his breath again. If he could just focus, could just call on the unending breath of the air genasi, he wouldn’t suffocate. But his lungs ached with the effort, and it was only a few seconds before he was panting for breath again.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

He was dizzy, from lack of oxygen or fear he couldn’t tell. Dorian pinched himself, digging fingers into the bruises on his forearms, trying to bring his mind back into focus. A hand caught his, pulling it away, threading fingers through his.

“Hey, hey…don’t do that.”

But he needed to. If he lost focus here, he’d suffocate. He sucked in another breath and held it.

“No, come on, buddy.” There was a hand on the side of his face now. “You’re safe now, you don’t need to do that anymore.”

How could he be safe? Shut in a box, buried deep in the earth, left to be forgotten?

“Shit, his fever’s back. We got any more water?”

The hand on his face moved, and a muscular arm slipped beneath his shoulders to lever him upright. Dorian coughed again, and found himself leaning against a familiar, broad chest.

“Come on, little zephyr. You’re safe now. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.”

The voice rumbled under his ear as a hand stroked through his hair. The present and past seemed to blur together for a moment, and he relaxed into his brother’s embrace.

“You haven’t called me that…in a long time,” Dorian rasped.

“Hey, there he is!” Cyrus chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “If I recall, you told us to stop calling you that on your sixteenth life-day, remember?”

Of course he remembered. Tall and awkward, desperate to be seen as the adult he so longed to be. He’d hated the nickname then, when he wanted his brother and the rest of his family to stop treating him like a child. Now, though…it really wasn’t bad. Not right now, anyway. “What happened?”

“You got sick,” his brother replied simply. “There was some kinda weird fungus in that crate, you must’ve breathed it in at the end. Dariax says he might be able to do something come morning, but for now we just gotta hold on.”

Dorian grunted. “Dariax?”

“He and Opal went to get more water. Well, one of them’s getting water and the other’s getting firewood, not sure who’s who.”

He shifted against his brother and tried to look around. They’d made a basic camp at the side of the road, angling the cart against a boulder so they had partial cover from the wind. “Where are we?”

Cyrus sighed, his breath ruffling the hair on Dorian’s head. “We got about two hours out from where we found you when you got sick. Hoping to make it to town, get you to an inn to get some rest, but things got a little rough.”

“Sorry.”

His brother’s arms tightened around him. “Don’t be sorry, little zephyr,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Never be sorry for something like this.”

Dorian let his head rest against his brother’s shoulder, exhausted almost beyond words. His body ached from his imprisonment, and the self-inflicted bruises on his arms, stomach, and thighs were stinging. “Thank you for coming after me,” he whispered after a few long moments. “I don’t know what I would have done…”

“I would never leave you like that,” Cyrus interrupted. His hand returned to Dorian’s hair, slowly stroking through the silken strands. “I’ll always come for you, Dorian. Always.”

“Yeah.” Dorian shifted again, and Cyrus tucked the blanket around him a little more securely.

“Cold?”

“Maybe a little.”

“We’ll get the fire stoked soon. Don’t you worry.”

He let his eyes slide closed, listening to his brother breathe. He could hear his brother’s steady heartbeat, and it slowly lulled him back to sleep.

Don’t panic.

It was dark and tight, the prickles of a thousand spiders crawling up his legs.

Don’t panic.

Voices all around him, digging, scraping, but never coming nearer.

Don’t panic.

Air was hot in his lungs, tearing through him with every breath.

Don’t—

“Dorian!”

He jerked awake, panting, Cyrus’s arms still around him. To his embarrassment, his cheeks were damp with tears, and he quickly scrubbed them away with one hand. “Sorry.”

“You’re breaking my heart, little zephyr,” Cyrus sighed, kissing the top of Dorian’s head again. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

He sniffed, curling himself tighter into the blanket. “Sorry.”

Cyrus didn’t say anything, but he moved his hand from Dorian’s hair to the back of his neck, pressing his thumb into the tense muscle there. “Hey, you wanna message your friend? Would that help?”

“Orym?” Dorian shook his head. “No, no I wouldn’t want to bother him.”

“Come on,” Cyrus coaxed. “I doubt he’d be bothered.”

Dorian sighed. Really, he’d like nothing more than to hear from Orym, or any of his friends back in Marquet, but he really didn’t want to waste the spell over something like this. “What would I even say?”

“Oh, I don’t know…’hey, friend, everything’s cool but I had a bad day, and I’d really like to hear your voice’? Something like that?”

He thought of Orym, and of all the messages his halfling friend had been sending him. His own affairs really didn’t seem as important now, with everything going on with the Hells.

“You’d want him to message you if he was feeling like this,” Cyrus added. “Wouldn’t you?”

Dorian sighed. He had to admit, Cyrus had a point. “When did you get all smart?” he teased weakly.

“Eh, I’ve been learning a thing or two from Dariax.”

That did it. Dorian burst out laughing, though he sagged against his brother as his laughter sputtered into a cough. “All right. Guess it couldn’t hurt.”

He fumbled in the pouch at his waist and pulled out the smooth, blue stone. He hesitated, then looked up at his brother’s strong profile.

Cyrus got the message and slowly extracted himself from the blankets. “I’ll be on the other side of the cart if you need me.”

“Cy…”

“I won’t leave you,” he promised, squeezing Dorian’s hand. “Just send your message.”

Dorian nodded and waited until Cyrus was out of sight. His brother could probably still hear everything, but that was okay. Not like Dorian was going to say anything embarrassing.

Probably.

He ran his thumb over the runes and watched them light up, then held the stone close to his mouth. “Hey, Orym. Everything’s okay, but I had kind of a bad day and it would be nice to hear your voice….”

[sanitatemsss]

Whumpcember 2022 Day 10

@whumpcember

Fandom: marvel, clint centric

Warnings: gunshot wound, tasing

Prompt: Day 10 - "i won't leave you"

[jedi-lothwolf]

Whumpril Day 26: Explosion/Short On Time/"I Won't Leave You!"

Fandom: Star Wars The Bad Batch

Warning: Major Character Death

Summary: Wrecker makes a mistake with one of his explosions and it might just cost a life.

    Boom. Wrecker blew up the tank he'd set the charges on. He watched the fire in all its glory. Then he looked past the tank. Hunter laid on the ground not too far from it. Then he realized what had happened. Wrecker had not made sure that no one was close to the tank; he didn't think about it.

    The demolitionist ran over to his brother. Blood spilled from the man's skin. Hunter looked over at Wrecker. He had known what happened. He wasn't mad, it was a mistake. He also knew he didn't have much time. The injuries would kill him if not treated quickly. There was one more truth he had to face. The droids were still advancing.

    "Hold on Hunter." Wrecker gently took off Hunter's helmet and laid it beside him. "Medic!"

    Hunter couldn't hear him. "Go."

    "What?"

    The confusion in Wrecker's body language explained that he hadn't heard him. "You have to go" Hunter strained.

    "I won't leave you!"

    The ringing in Hunter's ears started to disappear and he began to understand what Wrecker was saying. "You don't" he hissed at the small movements from talking, "have the time."

    Wrecker looked at Hunter. He couldn't move him. The injuries need to be taken care of there, they were far too advanced. "If I leave you here you're going to die. I can't let that happen."

    "Please. Go."

    Wrecker grabbed him comm. "Hunter's down. He needs immediate medical attention. The clankers are advancing too fast and I can't move him."

    "Where are you?" Asked Echo.

    Wrecker gave the soldier his location. Then he put his arm down and held Hunter's hand. He looked around and realized he really didn't have the time. The droids were far too close. He had to go. Tears gathered in his eyes.

    "Go." Hunter manipulated his face to form a small smile.

    "I'm sorry." Wrecker stood and ran. He had to. He commed the others to inform them of what had happened.

    The Republic would regain control over most of the field. Crosshair found Hunter and looked to see if he was still alive. He kneeled down and checked for a pulse. Nothing.

    The clone grabbed his brother's cold body and held him close for just a moment. If only they had time.

[fanfictasia]

Whumpcember Day 10

“I won’t leave you.” 

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Breathing Ashes

His master’s hand lightly runs along his arm, and he suppresses a quiet gasp at the sensation. He hasn’t felt that much in so long. Still, Obi-Wan’s presence is too close.

“Focus on me,” he instructs.

That’s exactly what Vader is doing. And it is most certainly not helping.

“Not on what you’re remembering.”

All he can do is… try to focus on the sensation of being touched instead of his panic, even if it only helps so much. He’s experienced… things like this before, but he can’t try to focus on breathing the way he once might have.

“I’ll be here. I’m not leaving you,” Obi-Wan promises, reaching up to touch his cheek, with a still surprising amount of gentleness. He wishes the words could reassure him. Maybe they do, a little. Or maybe he’s beginning to feel too tired to be so scared. Whatever happens, there’s little he can do to stop it. He can only submit, like he always did with Sidious.

It will only… serve to fuel the Dark Side.

Although he doesn’t see how being of the suit will do that.

“Sedate him,” Obi-Wan orders finally, still not moving away. Vader is… somewhat grateful for that. The touch, at least, makes it easier. It’s – it’s a reward Sidious never gave him. (So long as it won’t be used to hurt him again next.)

The last thing he sees is Obi-Wan’s yellow eyes, now fading to blue for some reason, watching him with… concern, unless he’s just imagining it – before his vision finally fades to a blissful black.

[mel-the-pirate-writeblr]

A Monster of His Own Making (M(T)PJ: Ditto Defect)

Whumpcember 2022 Day 10

Whumpcember Prompt Masterlist

Prompt: "I won't leave you."

Word Count: Four scenes of ~250 words each, 1k total

This is a part of a personal Pokémon Fanfiction series, My (Twisted) Pokémon Journey, and is looking at a part of a story that I haven't gotten to and put out there yet, Ditto Defect, but have MANY ideas for. This is a short little overview through a secondary POV character, N. It's set in Unova with Team Plasma as the antagonists, though I have a nice little OC antagonist so I don't have to struggle with too many canon characters. 

My (Twisted) Pokémon Journey Masterlist

This short is from N’s POV, multiple moments in the story that went wrong as he’s trying to do what he thinks is right and best, actively being ruined by Team Plasma and concerning the main POV character, Crystal. Enjoy!

🙞 🙟 🙝 🙜

N sat with Crystal in Nimbasa City's Rondez-View Ferris wheel. He recognized her eyes – the defensive, scared look. Even as she pushed it down, he almost could see it all the more clearly. What makes you so afraid?

He knew that nearly having her Luxray stolen must be weighing on her mind, but that wasn't all. Her Pokémon knew it, too, he could see how protective of their trainer they were. He had noticed their distrusting stares, their silence and rigidity when he was around.

He just wanted to promise that he wouldn't leave her to her fear. Revealing his role as King of Team Plasma was meant to be comforting, reassuring, something positive and beneficial. He could tell that her Pokémon cared deeply for her, and her for them. This wasn't an example of a bad trainer. Maybe he could help her, and she could help him free abused Pokémon. If she loves them so much, surely—

But she only distrusted him more, once he revealed his secret and learned of hers. Their brief time wandering around Castelia City and Nimbasa City didn't matter. She saw him as a threat to her safety, saw Team Plasma as a threat to her Pokémon. You’re so concerned with what happens to everyone else after you're caught by them. But not about what happens to you. After Team Plasma's actions at the Castelia City Pokémon Center, N couldn't really blame her. But he wished that she wouldn't compare him to them. 

🙞 🙟 🙝 🙜 

Per last order. P2 Lab.

N could only think about the message. He'd wanted to help her, but instead all this turned out to be his fault... Them finding her was his fault, and his failure to put an end to the P2 Laboratory. 

He sat in his room at N Castle. He thought of the Pokémon he had been given to care for throughout his childhood and adolescence. In another time, he could almost imagine Crystal here. He wasn't sure what form she had, or what age she could have come here as, but he could almost imagine hearing a conversation between her and Ghetsis, or maybe the Shadow Triad, or soothing a scared Pokémon, all just out of sight. In another, better time, she could have learned of his purpose, their purpose, and they could free Pokémon from people forever.

But in reality, she was the one he had to free.

N let the anger come. He felt it, then took a breath to compose himself. He wouldn't just let them use her. He promised he wouldn't let them use her as a weapon, he wouldn't leave her to that fate that the Genesect had. It was time to make good on that promise. He would go to the P2 Laboratory himself.

He would burn it to the ground if he had to.

🙞 🙟 🙝 🙜

N watched, through his own eyes, as the Team Plasma members detained the paralyzed amalgamation of an Alolan Ninetales and Vaporeon – That's Crystal, not some creature – and he couldn't do a thing about it. All he could do, as the king of Team Plasma, was promise her, I won't leave you to this fate, and hope that he could keep the promise.

Her eyes found him, as someone with a syringe approached her, and he saw the snarl start on her face – before it laxed, and then her eyes closed. She had tried fighting to keep them open, but even a shape-shifter like her couldn't fight poison and sedatives.

He kept his composure as they entered the underground portion of the P2 Laboratory. He played his part, acted as they expected him to, but he was stuck on how Crystal was taking the repercussions for his mistakes. I really meant it. I meant to protect you. But I didn't think I had to protect you from my own people. He watched them, detached, as they dragged her soaking and unconscious body away, tangled in the net and the blue Frillish that clung to her, the heavy and limp Vaporeon tail leaving a streak of water behind them.

He couldn't follow them then, but he knew that he'd find her in the observation laboratory. He had to make his presence known, and make them believe he was willing to help them – whatever their goals were for using Crystal. For the greater good of Pokémon, he thought bitterly. 

🙞 🙟 🙝 🙜

He stared, blankly, in shock at the creature that had once been a friend. The distrust that he had accepted was replaced by hostility and snarling. Her dark fur, no longer snow-white, couldn't have been a choice of her own. Even the Vaporeon leg and tail had a strange, ash-like hue.

Something glowed a molten orange in her mane. Some kind of crystal, or stone. He could see a collar of sorts under the chains that didn't let her venture far from the back wall.

"I guess I have to fix this before it gets worse," N told her, guilty. "What are they doing to you?"

Crystal just snarled at him, as if she were feral. More feral than anything he had seen, since—

Those Pokémon, he realized. Fifteen years ago. Those dark Pokémon. It took so long for them to return to normal... He didn't remember how they were calmed, he just remembered that they had been cured.

"How do I help you? How do I sooth you?" N asked Crystal, not expecting an answer. He could see the pain in her angry eyes.

Then he remembered. She mentioned going to sleep to some music she collected from her travels. They never said that they had her stuff. But why would they?

"I'm going to find your music, and then you'll start recovering. I'll be back. I won't leave you here."

[caguaydreams]

boops might be gone but the experience will stay with me forever

[lecoindecachou]

From this Hollywood Reporter interview.

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril2023 – Day 26

Explosion - Short on Time - “I won't leave you!”

TWs: blood, fear of loss, ambulance

Sammys eyes were glazy, only partly open. They wouldn't focus. His grip was weak, but maybe he wasn't even participating in them holding hands. It was just Davids big paw desperately holding on to his numb fingers. His little brother skin was cold and clammy. Strands of his dark short hair sticking to his in cold sweat covered forehead. Uncontrollable little shivers running through his body.

He never was as big and muscular as his brother, but in this moment he seemed to be breaking into two by the forces that were shaking his weak appearance. An oxygen mask covering half his face, blood and fluids through the IV preventing his body from failing completely. But they couldn't bluff the fact that Sammy was probably about to fight his final battle.

There used to be a spark in his eyes, a light so bright he couldn't have hidden it even in the dark. The sign of him being the joy of life, a little energy spiking pain in the ass. But this spark was fading by every the minute the ambulance was searching it's way to the much too pasty traffic on a Thursday afternoon.

David didn't register even one of the honking horns or the chaos on the streets of the outside world, his attention was focused on all the machinery, that was reassuring him, that Sammy was still alive. But the cacophony of alarming sounds and blinking displays was getting louder it seemed, more hectic. It had the same pace and urgency like his own frantic heartbeat. His little brother was taking shallow and strained gasps accompanied by a disgusting gurgling sound. They were only so faint, but seemed to predominate every other noise in Davids ears.

His own eyes were wet. Single big tear drops escaping since this all so frightening ringing of an exploding gun in his head had stopped, but David didn't care. Them still holding hands was everything that was important just now. His desperate plea and try to keep Sammy from slipping into the abyss, that was pushed open so careless. If the line between life and death was ripped the big brother at least needed to make sure their connection wasn't. “I won't leave you, Sammy. Don't you dare do the same to me.” The following “Please” was only aspirated, while more tears flowing down the big guys face.