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whumblr · 3 months

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Can I please have a drabble where emery beats up zayne really bad (you can decide the reasoning for it) so he goes to jay for help

LOVE YOUR WRITING, IT IS AMAZING!!!

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

The gun crashed hard against his face and this time Zayne couldn’t contain the grunt of pain it forced out.

He clenched his teeth. Too late. The weakness had already slipped and it only spurred Emery on. Another smash of steel and Zayne fell back against the shoulders of the two men flanking him.

"Every time I think you can't get any more worthless, you effectively find some way to prove me wrong," Emery said, voice calm but his face twisted in rage.

Zayne clenched his jaw, keeping his own rage in check and keeping his eyes down, focusing on the lapel of Emery’s suit jacket, pinpointing where he’d have to drive a knife in.

“Look at me,” Emery hissed and grabbed Zayne’s chin, forcing his head up.

Zayne panted lightly, shallow breaths passing between clenched teeth, biting back his groans, and he glared at his boss.

A sharp inhale, as if the man was readying for another rant. A short pause. Then the hand fell away. "Let go of him." And despite his best efforts, Zayne’s knees buckled under his full weight and he crumbled to the floor.

"Get out of my sight, Zayne." Emery turned his back on him and the two pawns stepped away. As quietly and as fast as he could, Zayne pushed himself to his feet, stood straight, and even with no one watching him, walked as calmly and as tall as his ribs allowed him out of the office. Until the door behind him fell closed.

He hissed out a breath. Pressed a hand to his ribs, let out a breathless swear. He forced himself forward, not succumbing to the urge to lean back against the door, and to drag himself from the office instead.

“What in the bloody hell happened to you?!”

Jay watched, astonished, as Zayne stumbled through the hallway, holding himself up with a hand on the wall whenever he could, nearly tumbling right over the threshold to the living room. He caught himself just in time, leaning heavily against the doorframe, arm cradling his ribs and he blew out a shuddery exhale before he spoke.

"Can I... Can I—ugh fuck—" He clenched his teeth, tightened the arm around his torso. "Can I borrow your first aid kit?”

Jay blinked, having expected something else. But if he wanted to do this by himself, fine by him. He waved towards the bathroom. “Help yourself. You know where it is.”

Zayne gave a short dismissive nod in thanks. One that didn’t deter Jay.

He followed but kept a safe distance; leaned in the door to the bedroom, arms crossed, watching through the open bathroom door how Zayne raised a shaky arm and got the first aid kit out. For Zayne to come here, in this state, showing his weakness… it must be really bad.

As Zayne lifted his shirt with one hand, Jay quite couldn’t see how bad; his back seemed uninjured. But he could see his muscles twitch with every wince, saw how Zayne shook so hard he fumbled everything he got his hands on. Heard him curse as he picked at the sticky part of a large plaster and tried to keep his shirt up at the same time. A trembling hand reached out to the bottle of disinfectant, missed, tipped it right off the sink and Zayne followed, lowering himself with one hand clamped around the sink, and it was like watching a man who was fifty years older.

Jesus, even I am handling this better when I’m alone, Jay couldn’t help but think. Then again, Emery wasn’t one to hold back, while Zayne did. He finally spoke up. "You know I have every right to just kick you out, right?"

"Yeah."

"And that I absolutely don't have to put up with this. I could poke at that goddamn broken nose of yours, laugh in your face and slam the door in it."

"Yeah," Zayne said again with a slight nod, and a long exhale as he stood straight again, holding himself up on the sink with both hands trying to get his elbows to stop trembling. Then, after a beat: "But you're not like that."

Jay froze. Made a face as if Zayne had just insulted him, then his shoulders relaxed in a sigh. No. No, he wasn't. He unfolded his arms and stepped into the bathroom.

"Give me that." He took the kit, threw everything back in – “You don’t need this,” he said, taking the roll of bandages from Zayne’s hand – snapped the kit shut, and pressed it against Zayne, pushing him backwards, out of the bathroom. Zayne followed along and Jay gently lowered him onto the bed.

"Take off your shirt."

Zayne hissed when he reached up to grab the neck of his t-shirt and faltered and Jay just sighed along with him. He gestured his palms up for Zayne to raise his arms far as he could, grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, careful not to snag on his elbows.

"Fuck me..." Jay muttered behind his teeth, shooting a look up at the ceiling. The things he was getting into... Purple streaks crept up over the side of Zayne’s ribs. Just above his navel was a large round bruise, barely a speck of skin colour left, as if they’d kept aiming for the same spot. While on the side of his abdomen, Jay could literally count the punches.

"I thought," he started as his eyes lingered over the deep purple bruises, "you said Emery was a weak prick who couldn't punch a staple through his files."

"Still true," Zayne groaned. "Which is why he likes to hold a gun or use his pawns as meat tenderizers first." He tilted his head. “Or both—Ow!” He winced and gave Jay an indignant look—Jay pulled away and held up his hands in a placating gesture. Zayne continued his rant.

“The man’s like a fucking toddler. Insisting that he too can help, so you give him a plastic hammer and let him wail on a few nails and he’s happy but it does fuckall.”

Jay hummed and brought up a cloth with disinfectant, pressed it gently to Zayne’s cheekbone. “I mean, he got you good here.”

“The gun got me.”

Jay again hummed an appeasing tone, like one would with a ranting toddler, and pressed a tube of arnica in Zayne’s hands. “Here, you can do this,” he said, and stood straight, holding up a finger in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture. He came back with a pack of frozen peas, wrapped it in a towel, and waited until Zayne had spread a copious amount of gel over his bruises. Zayne groaned, threw his head back and clenched his teeth as Jay pressed the towel against his ribs.

“Hold that,” Jay said, taking Zayne’s hand and pressing it over the bag so he could hold it himself. “Try to cool all those deep bruises.”

“How often you used this bag?”

“Let’s just say those peas aren’t for eating anymore.”

Zayne finally gave a smile. He let himself fall back onto the bed, only moving every few minutes to press his peas to another bruise. “Thank you,” he whispered, in such a low voice that he probably hoped Jay wouldn’t hear as he left the room. But he did.

The next morning, Jay puttered about in the kitchen, preparing a hearty breakfast. They could both use something a little filling.

As he set the table, he glanced at Zayne. He was sitting on the couch, watching the news. His hands were shaking, fingers digging into his knee, and it didn’t look like that full night of sleep had really helped.

"Does it still hurt?" Jay asked.

Zayne looked up, as if Jay's voice brought him back from somewhere far, far away and as if he didn’t quite grasp the meaning of the question. Well, given his injuries, not really hard to consider why.

Jay nodded at his hand. Zayne followed his gaze, lightly flexed his fingers and turned his hand as if surprised to see it shaking so much. With a twitch in its movements, he clenched it into fist, trying to hide the trembling. When that didn't work, he hid it behind his body. He looked at the tv again for a moment. "It does," he said, voice remarkably clear yet ever so fragile.

"Come then," Jay said. He turned the tv off, not even fully registering how the news anchors were shaking their head, lamenting the state of the justice system where violence in prisons just kept getting out of hand and why they’d even have guards if they just looked the other way when someone got shanked in the ribs thirty times. Jay put the remote back down and held out a hand to Zayne. "I've made you— I mean… there's breakfast."

Zayne meekly let Jay guide him to the table. For a moment, Jay thought he was going catatonic, just staring ahead, eyes dull. But when Jay placed a plate in front of him, he glanced up. Slowly, Jay saw the lights come back on as his eyes roamed over his favourites: scrambled eggs, toast, thick slices of bacon, a steaming cup of coffee. His jaw clenched for a second and Jay swore he saw his shoulders shudder. But then it passed and a smile, though a little forced, crept over his face as he picked up his fork.

“Thanks.”

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror

@susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime

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@hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion

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#Hi I made it worse #whump #whump writing #enemy on your doorstep.wip :))#I didn't know where else to go #yeahhhh reading this request immediately set my brain to whump #other reqs in my inbox: am I a joke to you (no pls Im sry)#reluctant caretaker #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #still have another comf piece lined up for them #my writing #hiwthi #hiwthi drabbles #thinking of putting all these drabbles on ao3 #probably easier to read

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