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#internal injuries tw
Wrong Place, Wrong Time
Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd
Word Count: 1822
TW: Reader Death, Whump, Explosion, Internal Injury, Trapped, Angst
Part One, Aftermath
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“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty good.”
“Pretty good? That movie sucked! I am so sick of these endless reboots and pointless sequels. You told a good story. It’s over and done, move on and give us something new.”
You chuckled. “Yeah, this coming from ‘Robin 2: The Adventure Continues’.”
Jason glared at you, but Dick burst out laughing. “Oh, oh! How about ‘Robin 2: The Second One’.”
“‘Robin 2: Electric Boogaloo’!”
“‘Robin 2: The Rise of Jason Todd’!”
“And the gritty reboot ‘The Red Hood: Return of Jason Todd’.”
“Alright, alright, I get it. Very funny. Make fun of the dead guy.” Jason rolled his eyes as you and Dick high-fived each other. He jammed his hands in his pockets and began storming off.
“Formerly dead guy. You can’t keep playing that card forever.” You said teasingly, reaching out and linking your arm with Jason’s. You felt Dick link arms on your other side, so the three of you were all connected as you walked down the sidewalk.
Crime had been surprisingly low the last few days, so you had decided to enjoy yourselves and catch an afternoon movie. It wasn’t often the three oldest of Bruce Wayne’s wards managed to find time to hang out, and it felt like old times.
Jason had reluctantly dropped his scowl. He glanced over at the storefront on his right and stopped abruptly in amazement. He scoffed, “Oh my god! Did you guys see this?”
As you and Dick turned, you let out a small chuckle of surprise as you saw display after display of merchandise bearing a variety of bat symbols. All of you were represented in some form or another. Bruce’s Batman on a shower curtain, Dick’s Nightwing on a blanket, Jason’s Red Hood on a bathrobe, Tim’s Red Robin on a coffee mug, and Damian’s Robin on a coloring book. But the thing that really caught your eye was the hoodie that looked like a replica of your costume, complete with mask built into the hood and your signature Bat-Insignia across the front. Glancing at the sign, you chuckled again at the name. The Bat Cave.
“Did either of you know about this?” you asked.
Dick and Jason both shook their heads in disbelief. Then Jason snorted, “I think somebody owes us some royalties or something. Those things are trademarked.”
You laughed, but knew he was probably right. Suddenly, you realized something was missing. Cursing under your breath, you turned and hurried back towards the theatre. Both boys turned to watch you speed away.
“Where are you going?” Dick called after you.
You yelled back over your shoulder. “I forgot my sunglasses. I’ll be right back.”
Just as your hand reached the door to the theatre, you heard Jason yell, “Hey, dumbass!”
Glancing back, you saw Jason smirking as he pointed to the top of his head. Reaching up to your own head, you felt the sunglasses perched there. You blushed as you placed them on your face, sheepishly turning back to the boys. You shrugged dramatically and took a step in their direction. That’s when the theatre exploded.
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Jason and Dick were thrown backward by the blast, landing in a heap about ten feet from where they had been standing. Groaning, both boys struggled to sit up and regain their bearings. People were screaming all around them and smoke curled out of the scant remains of what had just been the theatre.
All the blood rushed out of Jason’s face as he muttered, “Y/N.” He scrambled to his feet as Dick paled and frantically followed suit. They took off running towards the area they thought they had last seen you, but it was almost impossible to tell where anything had once been. When they thought they were in the approximate area, they began shifting desperately yet carefully through the rubble, screaming out your name. Jason couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Bruce had felt as he searched for his body years ago. Finally, Dick moved a hunk of cement and saw as a hand appeared from underneath it. He instantly recognized the bracelet that he had given you for your birthday on the wrist.
“Jay, over here! I found her!”
Feverishly, the two boys moved pieces of rock and debris, slowly uncovering more and more of your broken form, until the only wreckage that remained was a large section of the theatre wall that was too heavy for them to move. It was still pining you to the ground from the waist down, but there wasn’t any more they could do at the moment, so they began assessing your injuries.
You were lying awkwardly, half on your side, half on your back. Every inch of you was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. The left side of your face was skinned raw where you had skidded across the asphalt. Your sunglasses were destroyed, the remains of which dangled haphazardly from your face. Dick carefully removed what was left and noticed that they had been rammed against your nose with such force, they had shattered bones and blacked both of your eyes. The rest of your body was littered with bruises, burns, blood, and small cuts while your breathing was irregular and strained. Dick and Jason both crouched down next to you and tried to rouse you but at first you barely stirred. Finally, they watched as your eyes flickered open with a pained groan.
“Wha – what happened?” Your voice was hoarse and weak.
Dick and Jason exchanged a worried glance before Dick said, “We’re not sure. There was an explosion in the theatre. You were still at the door and it seems like you took a pretty bad hit. You were completely buried when we found you and we still can’t move that big piece off your legs. It is too heavy for just the two of us. Jay, you stay here and I’m going to go get help.”
“No…. don’t.”
“Sweetheart, we have to get you out from under that thing. You need medical attention immediately. Who knows what kind of internal bleeding you have or if there are any worse injuries this piece of wall is concealing.”
“You’re right, which is why it won’t matter. I can feel it. My leg…. Well, I’m pretty sure the pressure from this wall is the only thing keeping me from bleeding out immediately. As soon as you move it…. So, yeah, it’s too late to do anything.”
Jason sat back on his heels, horrorstruck, as Dick shook his head vehemently refusing to believe what you had just said. “We can at least try. As soon as the paramedics get here, they can help us. They’ll know what to do.”
You smiled hazily up at your brothers. “It’s okay, Dick. I’m not in much pain at the moment, it’s more numb than anything, but if you move that piece of wall, it’s going to be utter agony. And it still won’t matter. So, please, just let me go in peace.”
Jason hissed in fury, “We can’t just sit here and watch you die!”
“I don’t want you to. It might be too late for me but you two can go help the other people who were injured. You might still be able to save them.”
“We’re not leaving you.”
“It’s what we do. We’re heroes, Jay.”
“Not today we aren’t.” Dick said through a clenched jaw. You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Today we are just three siblings who wanted to spend the day together. Who just deserved a goddamn break for once in their lives. And instead, this happens. So, no. Today we aren’t heroes. There are enough other people walking around helping right now. We’re going to stay with you for as long as we can. I don’t care what that makes us.”
You grabbed Dick’s hand as tightly as you could manage as tears began to flow down his face. “It makes you a good brother.”
You smiled up at him and started to say something else, but a chest rattling cough cuts you off. Your brothers held you down, so you didn’t hurt yourself more as your body was racked with the intense hacking fit. Finally, when it subsided, you relaxed, blood dripping from your mouth. You looked up at Dick and weakly said, “I guess you were right on both accounts. Internal bleeding and a concealed wound. Huh, who knew?”
Before either boy could answer, you gave a dry chuckle and said, “You know, I always thought I would die in the suit. Going down swingin’ with my Bat Symbol proudly on my chest and my mask firmly on my face. Instead, it’s going to be flip flops and Jason’s old t-shirt.”
Jason thought for a minute, then stood up. “I’ll be right back. Dick, stay with her.” Dick just nodded numbly.
A few moments later, Jason came rushing back carrying the hoodie resembling your suit you had seen in the souvenir shop what seemed like a lifetime ago. For the first time since the explosion, tears filled your eyes.
“It’s not your suit, but it’s the best we’ve got at the moment.” As carefully as he could and with Dick’s help, Jason gingerly wrapped the oversized hoodie around you and zipped it up as much as he could. Then he pulled the hood down over your face, so the built-in mask framed your eyes.
You slowly lifted your fingers and traced the familiar emblem that rested over your heart. “Thank you, Jay. It’s perfect.”
“Least I could do.” Jason kissed your knuckles and smiled sadly down at you. Keeping ahold of your hand, he began rubbing his thumb lightly over the back of it, a constant reminder he was with you. Dick shifted so he was behind you and lifted your head so it was resting comfortably in his lap. You felt that the tension was so thick with all of the unspoken things between the three of you, that it was almost suffocating. Or maybe that was just your blood filling your lungs.
You felt your head starting to get fuzzy as your vision began to blacken around the edges, and you knew you didn’t have much time left. You nuzzled your cheek softly into Dick’s leg and gave Jason’s hand another squeeze. After taking a few deep breaths, you managed to croak out, “Hey…. I love you guys.”
“Back at you sis,” Jason tearfully bent down and kissed your forehead.
You smiled up at them as your world went black. Jason felt your hand go limp in his, and he frantically looked to Dick, hoping beyond hope his older brother would make this all better. But Dick just gazed down at your empty, staring eyes, tears streaming down his face. And all he could think at that moment was, “How the hell are we supposed to tell Bruce?”
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Part 2 out now!
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angelxd-3303 · 11 months
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Ok, I've come to the realization that I've kind of neglected Bowuigi in favor of Mareach, lol. Again, not on the bingo, but here we are.
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For context, this is inspired by @lethalhedgehogs au, namely their depiction of the Super Paper Mario aftermath. White-haired Luigi is just- my goodness. 10/10, definitely check out the inspiration for this! I remember someone asking about SPM in my au, but for the life of me I cannot find it T^T
I'm not sure I want to make spm canon to my au, I'm not sure how to fit it in, so this is just kind of a spin-off idea I had.
Luigi'll be fine, he's just delirious from pain meds, lmao.
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jtl-fics · 9 months
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Some Andrew angst backed up by brain science for you
On the left hemisphere of the brain there are two spots called the Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area, they are responsible for interpreting the meaning of speech by recognizing words and allowing your muscles and breathing to coordinate to produce speech respectively.
On the right hemisphere, the spots that correspond to Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area contribute to verbal communication by adding emotional context to speech such as anger or joy.
Therefore people who have had a cerebrovascular accident (such as a blow to the side of the head) to these spots (Right side of the head by the ear “I’ll box your ear boy”) speak in a monotonous voice, having lost the ability to impart emotional inflection to what they say.
What if Andrew is physically incapable of emotional speech due to some trauma received in a foster home, and everyone keeps giving him grief/calling him soulless for something that's NOT HIS FAULT
What if i just cry forever?
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schrijverr · 6 months
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I Found Myself a Cheerleader 22
Chapter 22 out of 28
Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.
In this chapter, Chrissy comes to an understanding about herself and Steve is there for her, while the others find a way out of the Upside Down for them. Though Nancy is attacked by Vecna on their way out.
On AO3.
Ships: steddie & buckingham
Warnings: general season 4 shenanigans, injury, internalized homophobia/biphobia mention, eating disorder mention
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Chapter 22: The Trailer Gate
They enter the Wheeler house, the now familiar living space covered in vines as the dust particles float around, adding to the ominous atmosphere. Steve is so grateful for Robin breaking the tension with: “Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.”
Both Chrissy and Steve snort softly and make eye contact. A bit of understanding passes between them, the affection for Robin that they share, odd comments and all.
“Come on, I don’t want to stay longer than we have to,” Nancy says, ignoring Robin all together as she walks up the stairs.
Robin and Eddie automatically go to follow her, since that’s all they have done this entire time, but Steve doesn’t really feel up to climbing those stairs, so he drops on a vine-less kitchen chair and lets out a deep breath, only to look up and meet Chrissy’s eyes.
“You okay?” he asks her, not really having had the time to do that with everything that has been going on. He can see that something is bothering her.
Chrissy looks around to see if anyone is there, piano music coming softly from the headphones around her neck, which had luckily survived the dive by being stuffed into another plastic bag, which had been littering the boat. She softly asks: “How did you know you- uhm, that you liked boys?”
A rush of excitement goes through Steve at the question. Watching Chrissy interact with Robin these past few days has already made him suspect something, but he’s thrilled Chrissy trusts him enough to bring it up.
However, he doesn’t want to scare her away, so as casual as he can, he answers: “I mean, it wasn’t easy, but when I stopped wanting to be King Steve, I realized how much I had to force myself to do the things I was expected to do for girls, you know. They didn’t really do it for me. And then I started noticing how boys did give me the feelings the others would talk about when talking to girls, which kind of sucked, not gonna lie.”
“It sucked?” Chrissy asks, small frown coming on her usually bright and happy face.
“Not that it was bad,” Steve quickly assures her. “Just, you know, I really struggled with it. You know that. You and Robin have been worrying about me for months now. I got over it, I promise, all better now.”
That is partially a lie, but Chrissy doesn’t have to know that, especially when it gets a smile out of her. Besides, ever since his talk with Eddie, Steve has been feeling better about it again. Just getting his fears validated and being forgiven by the one he hurt really helped. That and having it confirmed how he is never going to fit in with Nancy coming onto him.
Beyond the smile, however, Chrissy stays quiet. It’s contemplative, as if she doesn’t dare speak the words she is trying to find. Gently Steve prompts: “Is there a reason you’re asking, Chris?”
Chrissy tenses slightly and Steve wants to reach out to her, but is unsure if it’s welcome. Then she reaches out to him first, gently sitting down on his lap, careful with his wounds as she sighs: “I’m a so confused, Stevie.”
“Want to tell me about it?” he asks her, trying to be as careful and kind as he can as he loops his hands around her waist and holds her close.
“I just- I have always liked boys, you know. I got all the fluttery happy feelings about them. Still do,” she tells him. “I- I just also get these feelings about this girl. And I’m almost sure that I like this girl, but I don’t want to be wrong, because I could just be mistaken, because I do still like boys and I’m afraid I’ll hurt her.”
Steve desperately wants to ask her if it’s Robin. He is so sure that it is Robin, but Chrissy isn’t mentioning a name and he isn’t going to push, especially not when she’s being so vulnerable with him. He can’t imagine if anyone had pushed him when he was still in his embarrassing crush on Jonathan phase.
So, instead he holds her closer, uncaring how it hurts and whispers: “It’s okay to figure yourself out and be confused about it. It’s scary and it’s hard. I know. You just gotta trust that you know your own feelings and try to figure out what you like. If you like boys and girls that’s fine.”
“Boys and girls?” Chrissy asks, looking up from where she’d hidden her face in the crook of his neck. “You can do that?”
“I mean, I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly, then cracks a small grin. “But we’re in an alternate dimension, so I’m pretty sure we can make up our own rules, don’t you think?”
“Thanks, Stevie,” she says, a warm smile coming on her face. After witnessing her ghostly self these past few weeks, he is just so glad to see her happy again. Both her and Max have visibly bettered ever since they put their music on and it’s such a relief.
“No problem,” he promises her. “I’m always here for you.”
Before Chrissy can say something, the echo of a voice wisps through the room and Steve perks up immediately, scanning for danger. Chrissy is also looking around.
“Did you hear that?” she asks, probably just in case she is hallucinating again.
“Yeah, I did,” Steve replies, still looking around as he gently guides her off his lap, getting out of the chair as well.
He lift his bat, preparing himself to swing at whatever is there as the two of them look around. Their backs are against each other, so nothing can sneak up on them. Steve wants to call out to the others to ensure they’re safe, but he doesn’t want to alert whatever is lurking in the shadows of the Wheeler house.
The voice speaks again, this time Steve recognizes it. He lets the bat drop and it thunks on the floor as he asks: “Dustin?”
“What?” Chrissy asks, looking at him like he is crazy.
Steve shushes her and gestures to her to listen as Dustin’s voice can be heard again. It’s hard to pinpoint where it’s coming from, but it is very clearly him. Chrissy’s eyes grow wide and she starts looking around too.
“Dustin. Dustin! Dustin!” Steve yells, trying to get his attention.
“Dustin!” Chrissy joins him in calling Dustin’s name, squatting to check under the table.
Behind him, he can hear the others coming down the stairs, but he ignores them in favor of calling out: “Dustin, can you head me? Dustin? Dus- Hello? Hel- Hello?”
“Maybe he really does have rabies,” he hears Robin and turns back to face her, shaking his head excitedly, worlds unable to come out.
“Steve, what are you doing?” Nancy hisses in her authoritative tone.
“We can hear him,” Chrissy tells the group with big excited eyes, backing Steve in his perceived delirium.
“He’s here,” Steve tries to explain, sounding a little breathless from the elation of hearing Dustin and the yelling he’s been doing. “He’s in the walls or something. Just listen. Dustin! Dustin. Can you here me?”
The others are still giving him odd looks, but since both Chrissy and Steve insist, they all go look for Dustin and keep an ear out for him until- There! Dustin talks again and Steve can see how all their eyes grow wide.
With that their yelling increases, trying to make contact with the others on the other side. At this point, Steve is getting a little sick of it and he mutters: “Alright, either this kid can’t hear us or he’s being a total douchebag.”
“Will found a way,” Nancy suddenly says, her voice giving away that she has connected a few dots and that it going to get them out of here.
“What?” Chrissy asks.
“He found a way to speak to Joyce through the lights,” Nancy explains.
“Lights?” Steve asks, before remembering the flashing. All the Christmas lights that had been strung up in the Byers house back then suddenly making a lot more sense.
She starts walking around the room, trying all the light switches of the lamps and the lights, but nothing seems to be happening much to her frustration. She huffs: “It’s not working.”
Suddenly Steve notices how the particles surrounding the lamp have changed. Instead of the dark dust that seems to be everywhere, it’s like a small fairy is sprinkling dust in the air. It’s a bit like Tinkerbell in Peter Pan. He points at it as he calls out: “Guys? You seeing this?”
They all turn to look and Nancy lights up: “Of course. The lights itself. Not the switch.” She walks over and reaches out to it, brushing her hands through the particles.
A part of Steve expects her hand to disappear, like it’s a small gate or some shit, but instead the particles just brighten.
With the confirmation that it’s safe, both Eddie and Robin immediately reach out for it as well. It reminds Steve a bit of a raccoon and a magpie and he has to work to not laugh at them, instead he reaches out too, surprised at the tingling sensation. Confused, he frowns: “It- it tickles?”
“It kind of feels good,” Robin adds.
And it is so Robin to say that, that Steve can’t help the grin, going to look at Chrissy to again share the fondness, only to find her staring at Robin. She blushes and looks away, meeting Steve’s eyes and her own widen. To reassure her, he just winks and makes a shhh gesture. He will keep her secrets.
Chrissy smiles back at him, before also touching the sparkles, gasping: “That feels weird.”
“Does anyone know Morse code?” Nancy asks, pulling her hand back. She has already moved on from the weirdness and is diving into problem solving. It’s one of the qualities that make her so nice to have on the team whenever something like this goes down.
“No,” Chrissy, Robin and Steve all mumble, having to disappoint Nancy with their lack of collective knowledge. Eddie, however, asks: “Wait, does SOS count?”
They all look at him and he shrinks back under their attention. Hesitance is in his voice as he goes on: “Is that- Is that good?” Steve kind of wants to kiss his stupidly handsome and helpful face right now.
“That’s perfect,” Nancy half laughs in that relieved manner of her, gesturing for Eddie to go ahead and signal.
The rest of them step back to give Eddie space and not mess it up as he rhythmically starts poking the lights. Steve wants to describe it as a thrusting manner, but he is really trying not to think about thrusting and Eddie in the same sentence while watching those mesmerizing hands move.
“It’s working,” Robin says giddily, catching Steve’s eye and making a judgmental face as if she knows what he is thinking. He flips her off and she sticks her tongue out.
It takes a few moments before the others are responding, but then they hear Dustin loud and clear say: “I got a plan. Go to Nancy’s room. Can you hear me?”
“They can hear you, stupid,” they hear Erica reply and Steve’s heart breaks a bit. Not Erica too! He had hoped to keep her out of this.
“How do you know that?” Dustin exclaims indignantly.
“Because I’m Erica,” Erica replies, before turning to them. “Flicker twice if you hear us.” Eddie flickers twice. “See,” she says smugly.
“Okay, okay,” Dustin gives in, then asks them: “Nancy’s room, did you get that?” Eddie flickers twice again.
The voices of the kids start moving away, so they go upstairs. Sitting has done a lot for Steve and he is feeling invigorated by hope and the knowledge that the kids are okay, so he now follows after them, curious to see what Dustin has come up with.
Now that there might be a plan, Steve is anxious to get out of here. The air is thick and he remembers how they suited up to go in the tunnels. Being here feels wrong. So, he urges: “Come on, come on,” under his breath.
Nancy takes the lead in setting up contact with Dustin. All of them hold their breath as the kids set up the toy they stole from Holly. They want this to work, they need this to work. The Upside Down is harrowing to be in and none of them want to stay for longer than they have to. Steve doesn't know how Will did this for a week.
The kids suggest the gate they came through, which they have called Watergate, because of course they did. That is such a Dustin thing to do, Steve thinks with a fond eyeroll. They manage to communicate that it’s guarded and Steve says: “Perfect, yes, yes,” because his kids are on this and if anyone can get them out, it’s them.
“We think we have a theory that can help with that,” Dustin calls back, not disappointing much to everyone’s relief. He continues: “We think Watergate isn’t the only gate. That there’s a gate at every murder site.”
“Does anyone understand what he’s talking about?” Nancy asks at that and Steve is glad she said it so they can all agree and he doesn’t have to feel stupid in private.
She draws a question mark to convey their collective confusion.
“Okay, seriously? How many times do I have to be right on the money, before you guys just trust me!” Dustin exclaims in that judgy way of his. He loves that kid, but god does he hate how he expects everyone to keep up with him when he is a genius.
Unable to help himself and comfortable in the knowledge Dustin can’t hear him, Steve says: “Jesus Christ, this kid’s got to get his ego in check.”
“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie says immediately, leaning forward so he can look at Steve. He looks like Steve right now, happy he can share it with Steve. It’s been a while since they talked shit about the kids together and it kind of feels like coming home.
“I know,” Steve grins back at him.
Nancy, however, is listening to Dustin and moving on. She asks Eddie: “Okay. So- so, how far is your trailer?”
“Seven miles,” Eddie answers, his face a little bit of a grimace as his eyes flick over to Steve. He probably can’t walk that far with the state he’s in.
“Nancy,” Robin starts, she has also given Steve a glance, but given the fact she isn’t going into a medical spiral, she has likely figured something out. “I know you house here is like weirdly, creepily frozen in time and shit, but haven’t you always had bikes?”
That could work. They all look at Nancy and Steve is mentally crossing his fingers, because biking seven miles sounds a lot less daunting than walking.
“I do,” she says. “Mike’s must be here and my old bike too. I think my parents also have a bike, so we should have four.”
“Four works,” Robin decides. “Steve can share with Eddie.”
“Hey!” Steve immediately protests. “Why do I have to share? One of you girls is easier to take on the back. Eddie’s heavy.”
“Rude,” Eddie pouts, but it’s luckily playful.
“Because you’re going to be on the back, dingus,” Robin answers.
“Why?” Steve frowns. The thought of sharing a bike with Eddie makes him a little hot under the collar and he doesn’t think he can be able to hide that with how exhausted and in pain he is. He doesn’t want Eddie to find out.
However, Robin has already made up her mind and logic is on her side, because she says: “You’re injured. It’ll be better for you to not exert yourself too much.”
Steve frowns, trying to come up with something. His eyes fall on Eddie, who is smartly been keeping to the background. Feeling a little catty, Steve narrows his eyes and asks: “Can you bike well?”
“I didn’t have a car for years,” Eddie points out with a crooked grin, then jokingly promises: “I won’t let you fall, princess,” and Steve hates how he that will play in his mind as he rolls his eyes and gives in.
Chrissy is the smallest out of them, so she gets Mike’s bike, while Nancy takes her own and Robin that of Karen. That means Eddie and Steve get to share Ted Wheeler’s bike. If the man knew, he’d probably have a fit, Steve thinks.
Robin takes the nail bat and puts it in the little basket on the front of Karen’s bike. Steve snorts at the comical sight while Eddie grabs Ted’s bike.
The bike has a baggage rack on the back that Steve can sit on. Eddie swings one leg over the bike and steadies it between his thighs as he turns back to Steve and asks: “Think you can get on okay, big boy?”
“Yeah, I’ll manage,” Steve replies, ignoring how his voice is kind of a squeak.
He carefully gets on the back and Eddie takes off, which nearly sends Steve flying off the back of the bike. Without thinking he grabs Eddie’s waist and yells: “What the hell, man. You said you were good at this.”
“I am, I am,” Eddie laughs as they zigzag before steadying.
Steve lets out the breath he had been holding, then realizes he’s been clinging to Eddie and burying his face in his back as he cuddles up. Embarrassed he clears his throat and starts to let go. However, he is stopped by a hand on his arm.
Cautiously, he makes a questioning noise and melts a little when Eddie explains: “So I’m sure you’re still there and okay. Can’t have you be yanked of this bike on my watch, alright, Stevie?”
“Yeah, alright,” Steve agrees and holds on tight again, ignoring Robin’s face as she bikes past them to ride next to Chrissy.
The ride to the trailer park is thankfully uneventful. Steve doesn’t think he could have taken it, if it was anything but, honestly. He needed the rest. His sides are still aching and his back burns. He knows they’ll need to take a look at his injuries when they get out of here, before they get infected or something.
But, Eddie is warm under his arms, his chest expanding with every breath and his heartbeat strong under Steve’s ear, which is rested against his back. It’s nice. Steve can close his eyes and pretend they aren’t in the Upside Down for a moment, that it’s all okay.
He’s drawn out of his make believe by Eddie calling out: “Right here,” as he points to his trailer where Patrick died only a few days ago.
They all get of their bikes, Eddie slowing gently so Steve can get off, while in front of them Robin practically throws the bike to the floor as she grins: “That’s gotta be a Guiness World Record. Most miles traveled interdimensionally.”
Chrissy giggles as Steve snorts, with it inhaling those dust particles. He coughs a little as they walk to the house and complains: “Just inhaled a bunch of that crap.” He coughs again. “It’s stuck in my throat.”
Fuck, he just wants to get out of this place. Right now, preferably, he thinks, as he grabs the nail bat from the ground where it fell out of the basket when Robin dropped her bike.
He is so preoccupied with the thought that he doesn’t realize that this will be the first time he’s ever inside Eddie’s trailer until he’s looking at a wall of mugs and can’t help but think that he never heard Eddie about those.
Then he’s again distracted by the red glow on the ceiling and Chrissy who exclaims: “Goddamn,” before looking shocked at her own vulgarity.
“This is where Patrick died, like right where he died,” Eddie says with a tight voice and Steve can’t imagine how he must be feeling right now, being back here. Both finally the comfort of his home yet also at the place where he witnessed the most horrible thing to date.
Steve almost can’t to stand to look at Eddie, to know what his face looks right now. But he looks anyway and he has to fight himself not to pull him into a hug to keep him away from all the horrors in the world.
He’s prevented from doing something stupid by Robin. She pulls him away with her comment, which is: “I think there’s something in there.”
Indeed the membrane on the portal is moving as if something is pushing at it. It looks small, almost tendril like and all of them watch with apprehension. Eddie sums it up best: “What the hell is that?”
It suddenly breaks open, red liquid splattering on the ground in front of them as they collectively startle back with loud yells.
Steve raises his nail bat and is already pushing to the front of the group when the attack on the portal stops. It’s quiet. Too quiet. So, he slowly creeps forwards, hoping the others are smart enough to stay back, so they’re not all getting yanked through again like Steve had been at the gate in Lover’s Lake.
But when he looks up, there is no monster waiting for them. No bats keeping guard. Instead there is the trailer living room in the universe he knows so well and in it are his favorite kids. Dustin in the middle holding an oar as he grins widely at Steve.
“No way,” Steve breathes, giddy relief filling his bones. They’re on the home stretch now. They’re almost out of here.
They’re all waving like dorks and the two groups greet each other with Hi’s.
“Holy shit, this is trippy,” Robin comments, sounding exhausted and like she means it with her whole heart and Steve can’t agree more.
“Bada-bada-boom!” Dustin yells in triumph, because he will always be a nerd and a looser and Steve loves him so so much. Then he says: “I got an idea to get you out of there, but I’m not totally sure it’ll work, so ideas are welcome as a back up. But it’s probably fine.”
Looking up, Steve does have an idea, but not for everyone. Still, each person less in the Upside Down is a win in his book, so he calls back: “I might have an idea to get Chris out, but I’m not sure either.”
Everyone except Chrissy looks at him in confusion. Chrissy, however, looks a little surprised and asks: “Are you sure that’s smart? You’re injured.”
“Not that injured,” Steve semi-lies. “And we got to keep moving, who knows what felt that portal break open. If Dustin’s plan falls through, we can at least get you out.”
“Okay what are you two talking about?” Eddie asks, voicing what the others are thinking as Robin and Nancy both nod.
“I can boost Chrissy through,” Steve tells them.
“Are you insane?” Nancy asks. “If you do that, she’s going to break her neck and that’s if you get her high enough to even get through.”
“Not a normal boost,” Steve rolls his eyes, admittedly a little bitchy. He’s kind of done with Nancy always assuming he hasn’t thought things through.
“We’ve been doing this cheer stunt,” Chrissy explains. “I’ll go feet first. It’ll be totally safe. And we know how to land on this side again if we realize it isn’t going to work.”
Nancy obviously isn’t convinced yet, but she gestures for them to go ahead. Robin also isn’t sure and she frowns: “Don’t you need a back spotter? I mean, you told me about practice and you always mentioned a back spotter. Are you sure it’s safe?”
“You know about cheer?” Chrissy asks, sounding delightfully surprised.
Robin blushes and mumbles: “I mean, with dingus here, it’s kind of hard not to,” like she doesn’t always actively listen to both of them when they’re talking and asked Steve to explain.
“You can catch her if she falls,” Steve smirks at her earning a slap, before he assures her: “We trained this stunt without back spotter. It’s fine.”
“That doesn’t make me more confident, Steve,” Robin counters.
“Just trust us,” Steve says, before getting in position and nodding to Chrissy that he is ready.
At this point, all his attention is on Chrissy. He is not going to let her fall. So everything fades to the background, Nancy, Robin, Eddie, the kids, his pain. None of it exists. He just breathes in, breathes out and catches Chrissy.
She’s on his hands in a handstand and he has bend his arms, so her feet don’t hit the ceiling. Behind him he can hear Eddie cheer and Robin let out a surprised laugh. Chrissy looks down at him and he smiles right back up at her.
Chrissy feels very light and his heart breaks a little for her, vowing to make sure she eats something once they’re finally on the other side again. But first they have to focus on getting her out of this place.
Carefully he walks until he is properly under the portal, before stretching his arms. Chrissy’s feet go through okay from his end, but to be sure, he asks: “That feel good?” She nods. “Ready for a boost?” She nods again. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Alrighty,” he replies, before bending his knees and arms slightly and counting it out, before throwing her in the air.
The view is very odd. He is used to her disappearing to the side, but instead it looks like she’s falling off a cliff as he watches her go up and then down. He keeps being ready to catch her again, but she lands on her feet at the other side and soon is grinning back up at them.
“Holy shit,” Eddie exclaims, clapping Steve on the back.
“That was insane,” Robin yells jumping up and down in her excitement.
Right at that point Lucas and Max return with the mattress and the group still in the Upside Down can see the two pause, before Lucas asks: “How the hell did you get here?”
“Steve threw me,” Chrissy answers, which probably doesn’t answer much by the way the two look up at Steve then back at Chrissy.
“Okay, uhm, sure,” Max says, before shooing her out of the way, so they can put the mattress down on the floor.
It’s stained and Steve can feel Eddie shrinking in on himself as he says: “Those stains are, uhm- I don’t know what those stains are.”
The stains are not so bad. It looks a little like the mattress his parents threw away when he was a kid. And he still remembers how fucking expensive mattresses are when he moved out. His own current mattress is also kind of stained like that, but he couldn't afford a new one. Eddie probably can’t either.
In the hope to make Eddie feel a little better, he bumps him and sends him a small smile. He’s glad when Eddie gives a smile back even if he pulls his hair in front of his face.
Their moment is broken by Dustin and Erica coming back carrying something. Steve is trying to figure it out as they question Chrissy about how it felt to go through. He isn’t listening to what they’re staying, but figures out they’re holding covers tied together to form a rope. Rope seems smart.
Dustin seems satisfied and pretty confident as he hands Lucas on end of the rope and says: “Toss it through.”
“Are you sure?” Lucas asks, looking at the ceiling then back at Dustin.
Instead of giving a normal reply, Dustin sighs as he makes a judgy expression that sends a stab of fondness through Steve’s heart.
Lucas smartly holds his hands up in a placating manner, before throwing his end up towards them, so they have to step aside.
The group watches it unfurl until it’s hanging in midair. Dustin tugs on it and it seems to hold just fine as he give them a thumbs up and says: “There we go. Abracadabra.”
Steve is amazed at how Dustin even thought of that and he can feel himself being able to finally breathe with the way out of there now ready to go. Robin however seems less sure of it all as she tugs on it and says: “Guess I’ll be the guinea pig.”
She starts climbing and Steve has to look away for a second to not burst out laughing. He loves Robin to bits, but she is one of the least athletic people he knows. Still, he looks back when he gets himself under control wanting to be sure she makes it through safely.
He watches her fall through the portal with all her usual grace and exclaim with relief when she’s on the other side. She gratefully takes Chrissy’s hand and lets herself be pulled off the mattress, stumbling into Chrissy’s arms and giving her a big hug. Steve has to respect her game.
But with Robin safely through that means the next person can go. It’s obvious to Steve that he is staying until everyone is out and he’d prefer it if they could move quickly. He still remembers how fast those bats were on him on the way in. He doesn’t fancy getting attacked on the way out.
First Steve looks at Nancy, because he’s been taught to let the girls go first, but she looks right back and he is reminded that she is the warrior where he is the protector. She’s also not just leaving anyone behind.
So he turns to Eddie, urging him to go with his eyes. Eddie has already seen enough of this Upside Down nonsense. He’s a newbie here. He shouldn’t be the last on out.
“Alright, guess I’ll go,” he shrugs, though not before glancing between Steve and Nancy and quirking a brow at Steve that he doesn’t quite get.
Before he can think about it too much, Eddie is climbing and Steve can feel his face flush as he watches veined hands grip the sheets, before strong legs slide past his vision. And when he looks to check if Eddie also goes through okay, he can’t help but watch his ass.
He watches Eddie crash to the ground and he winces in sympathy, but Eddie is practically made out of rubber and he bounces back with a grin and the exclamation: “That was fun. Shit.”
Steve chuckles fondly for a second, watching Dustin help Eddie up, before turning to Nancy again. She might have been right last round, but Steve isn’t going to leave her behind. He has the weapon, he’s staying. First one in, last one out.
“See you on the other side,” he tells her as he gestures to the rope. Nancy narrows her eyes slightly, so he lets the bat swing down from his shoulder and smiles at her with oblivion on her face, as if he doesn’t notice.
At that Nancy softens slightly and she agrees: “See you on the other side,” swaying close in that weird, creating moments way she’s been doing, before pulling back and grabbing the rope.
However, instead of starting to climb, she freezes. Steve sighs and says: “I swear I’m fine, just go, Nance.”
Still no reaction.
“Nance?” Steve asks again, dropping the bat next to him and shaking her slightly and getting nothing back from her.
Worry now truly starts to set in and he turns her around. As he fears instead of her normal big, expressive eyes, she now has that same blank look that Max has at the cemetery and Chrissy at the Creel house.
Despite knowing it won’t work, Steve shakes her again, shouting her name. Above them he can hear the other start to scramble around to get her music and all Steve can do is yell at her and keep her feet on the ground for as long as he can.
Fuck, why didn’t she tell them she was cursed? They have a fucking cure. They could’ve prevented this! Why is she so stubborn?
There is all sorts of chaos going around, but Steve kind of feels detached from it all. He’s not in his body, just looking from above.
He and Nancy have a weird relationship. He thought he loved her, she broke his heart and ruined his self esteem, he hates her a bit and he will never not be there for her. She’s been acting weird and making him a little uncomfortable, but the thought of her not being by his side through this all is too much to bear.
She’s such a brilliant person and while emotions are not her forte, he knows she is going to make it so far. If she’d just live through this right now.
No solutions are coming from above and Steve tries to remember if he knows what kind of song she might like and if he knows the lyrics. But the two haven’t really spoken in over a year at this point and all he does is pull blanks.
After what feels like an eternity, but can’t be more than a few minutes, Nancy suddenly heaves a deep breath and collapses forwards.
Steve frantically checks her over, only mildly relieved by the lack of cracking noise to indicate her bones aren’t broken. A part of him, however, can’t help but fear she’s silently killed and he has her corpse in his arms.
However, she’s breathing just fine – maybe a bit too fast to be fine, but still – and clawing at his arms as if she needs something to hold her up.
“Oh thank fuck,” Steve hears himself exclaim as he pulls her close, her small frame fitting easily in his arms like it used to.
Right now the relief is overshadowing all else and he giddily calls up: “She’s alive. She’s okay.”
There are cheers and other noises of relief from above him, but Steve ignores it in favor of calming Nancy back down again. After all his nightmares, he’s gotten comfortable with breathing exercises to bring his heart rate down and Steve feels like Nancy can use that.
It takes them a little too long for Steve to be comfortable in the Upside Down to calm Nancy down. However, the lack of monsters that has come knocking down the door soothes him slightly and he knows rushing her won’t help them.
When she finally feels up to it, he helps her for as long as he can, supporting her as she climbs up the rope with shaking hands.
Once back on the ground she is swarmed by the others, who all check on her and hug her to make sure she truly is okay. Steve watches with a relieved smile. She needs the support right now, that can’t have been pleasant.
He is also glad that he has gotten everyone out. It’s just him now, like he planned. He never expected them to even follow him down here, he wasn’t going to let them die for it. And right now he has succeeded.
But he still has to get out himself. The others lead Nancy away from the mattress and Steve is kind of glad they’re all distracted, so they’re not watching him too closely.
His injuries don’t hurt as much now as they did when he just got them, but they’re not pleasant either and he can feel how his skin pulls at them as he stretches his hands up to climb the rope at a snail’s pace.
At this point, he’d rather be safe than sorry, so he doesn’t strain and moves small distances. The flip itself feels a little scary, but Steve has always been an active kid. Gravity shifting around him is one of the oddest feelings he’s ever felt, but he’s careful and thus luckily doesn’t go slamming into the ground below.
Instead he gracefully lets himself drop, only to immediately fall over with a low groan when the shock wave the landing sends through his body makes his sides pulse.
He looks up to check if any of the kids saw, which is fortunately also a no. The kids is still fussing over Nancy, but not Chrissy, Eddie and Robin. Eddie is standing on the left, Robin on the right, Chrissy next to her.
“Come here, dingus,” Robin says, holding out her hand.
“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” Eddie grins also holding out a hand.
Steve grins up at them and takes their hands as he lets them pull him to his feet again. God, it feels good to breathe fresh air.
Above him, his nail bat watches over the scene, abandoned in the hell dimension.
~~
A/N:
Y’all I have been playing that cheer stunt through the portal scene in my heart for weeks and I’m so excited to have finally written it down omg!!! It was literally the reasons I even started writing this AU
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If The Gods Were Kind — cave pt.1
Hello! Welcome to the first part of this massive fic I have been writing for the past 3 months. This was part of the @lifefanworkexch and I had a ton of fun writing this! The prompt (given by the lovely Jupiter, my secret soulmate) was Desert duo Hurt/Comfort in Third Life, following canon closely. This first batch focuses on me playing with Minecraft world-building and adding some headcanons about the life series, since I’m following canon. I just can’t help myself, following the content creators’ videos.
Enjoy!
Master Post
—    —  
Content warnings: graphic description of animal death and dissecting process, gore, graphic description of violence, description of tending injury done badly and blood.
If the stars were aligned, maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess. If the universe had any pity for him (which he was certain it did for making him live this long), he would be sitting, looking at the sunset—looking at him. If the gods above wanted kindness, he shouldn’t remember what happened, shouldn’t remember a yearning that will never be fulfilled. A hole in his chest, forever empty, and an underlined anger, bubbling closer to the surface every day. Then, and only then, did the gods deserve his kindness.
He woke up in a clearing, full of colorful flowers. Some red, some yellow, but most were purple. He couldn’t name them all, even if he tried. He couldn’t remember how he got in this clearing. He couldn’t remember why he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and where all these scars in many shapes and forms came from. Actually, his mind was drawing on a blank when he tried to dig deep in his memories. The only certain thing he knew was his name.
Well, not really, but he did find a sort of communicator with a name engraved in the back.
GoodTimesWithScar.
He figured his name was Scar, if the engraved name indicated anything. The communicator itself was quite bland, a metallic shine to it. There was a keyboard, but he didn’t look at it for very long. The letters seemed to change shape every time he looked at it, and the back of his eyes ached. While the device wasn’t a box, it wasn’t thin either. He wondered how it fitted perfectly in his pockets.
The screen was black, making him search for a power button. How did he know he needed to find a power button was beyond him, but he needed to find one. He looked back at the keyboard and saw a button with a circle and a line cutting across half way. He pressed it. The screen became white, then gray.
There were two things written on the screen. “Punch a tree” and “You have no contacts”. First off, it took him an embarrassing amount of time to read those two things (not to mention the slight ache behind his eyes spreading to his temples), and second, he did not understand them. Punching a tree? Was that even possible? Scar looked around him, searching for trees, and saw some up on a hill. Might as well try.
As he climbed the hill, he was often losing his balance, almost falling every time. He kept looking at his hips, thinking maybe he was wearing something heavy, as his hips felt like they weren’t able to move to their complete capability, held back, but he was only wearing a belt with brown cargo pants. He had to take breaks, mostly to not fall over. When he arrived at the top, a wave of fatigue submerged him, and a sharp but short ache pierced his lower back. Scar stretched his back, hoping it would dim down, and was only left half satisfied. He slightly frowned, wondering what was up with his body.
He brought his focus back to the tree in front of him. He rolled his shoulders, glad he didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary (though, how would he know what was normal and what was not), and started punching the brown tree’s bark. He felt incredibly stupid when punching the trunk, but after a couple of punches, a part of it disappeared.
Scar yelped when the wood vanished. Where did it go? He ignored how heavy his shoulders felt, and walked frantically around the tree to find the wood he’d been punching.
“C’mon, c’mon, where are you?” he singsonged, desperately looking, even tearing grass. Maybe it shrunk. Maybe it was still stuck on the tree.
Scar got up from his crouched position with great difficulty. He had to sit down on his butt, and try again to hoist himself up with the help of the trunk. He looked inside the hole he punched and couldn’t see any wood hanging around. He groaned.
He took his communicator out of his pocket. He really didn’t want to touch the thing often, but he had no choice. He opened it and saw that the first message on his communicator changed. Scar took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself to read. This first message read: “Punch a tree: Achieved”. Scar’s eyebrows shot up. Did he get the wood? Where would he find the wood he supposedly got?
His communicator buzzed, drawing his attention back to the text. While the letters were still jumbled, he recognized certain shapes of certain letters and was able to get “Taking Inventory”. Inventory? As in, having a secret pocket dimension on his person? How would he find that? He patted himself, hoping it would activate something, but he got nothing except a dull ache in his calves, heavy and trembling.
He looked around. He couldn’t rest, he needed to understand what was going on. Or, at least, have a basic understanding of how this world worked, not that he had any previous knowledge of its rules.
Then, something clicked. He instinctively searched in his inventory for the piece of wood he just punched. Scar sighed, relieved he wasn’t as hopeless as he thought he’d be. He put the wood in his hand, feeling the rough structure of the bark. He wondered if he could do anything with this. Why did his communicator feel it was necessary to indicate to him he needed to do that? He looked at the tree with a hole. What other treasures did this tree hide?
He continued his punching, even punching the leafs to find some sticks, saplings and rarely, some apples. Scar looked back to the clearing. He went deeper into the forest than he originally thought. He should probably head back, who knows what this world would be beyond it. His eyes squinted when he saw a flash of blue, deeper than the color of the sky.
He went back to the clearing, wanting to know what this flash of blue was. He tried to step down, but immediately lost his balance. He grunted, a dull ache on his butt blossomed. He had to figure out how to go down the valley, into the clearing without losing some of his gait and feeling like his legs were gonna give out. Scar sat on the hill and started slowly sledding down. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was better than falling and rolling without any control.
When his butt reached a flat surface, he used the hill to hoist himself on his feet. He limped his way to the flash of blue, who has grown more prominent and frequent. His eyes fell on a little pond close to it, but he turned his attention back in front of him. It was a transparent wall, oscillations of blue and white moved in tandem. He could see the other side of the wall, a whole landscape before him. He was stuck inside a world. Whatever put him here didn’t want him to go very far.
He huffed and decided to check his inventory out of curiosity and boredom. In it, he saw crafting recipes. This might be useful, he could craft something to protect himself or even something to sleep on. His legs were wobbly underneath him, and he noticed a cliffside, filled with coal and different types of stone. He could maybe settle close to it before he went to explore the world. He circled the pond and sat close to the cliff, his back to the rock. He shimmed into a more comfortable sitting position and looked at the crafting recipes.
As Scar tried to craft something to protect himself, his communicator buzzed in his pocket. He stopped his crafting—which was growing less fruitful than he hoped it’d be—and looked at the screen. A key word he could decipher was “crafting table”, and the feeling of foolishness came crawling back, realizing what he needed to do. He went back to his crafting, this time making planks with the wood he collected. It was easier to manipulate planks than the trunk of a tree. With the planks, he used some of it to make the crafting table.
Scar placed it right beside him and swiveled to face the cliff. One of the recipes he looked at said he needed charcoal for torches. He figured torches were important, especially to see in the dark. He stood up, using the grip of the rock to help him, and feeling a soreness in his shoulders. After rolling them back, he made the necessary tools to survive, with the help of the crafting table and crafting recipes: a sword, an ax, and a pickaxe. He mined the coal and some stone. Could he use the stone to make better tools?
He heard an oink behind him. He turned around swiftly, and inhaled sharply. It was only a family of pigs. He sighed of relief and glanced at his stone ax, then back at the pigs. He slowly approached them, ready to swing. His calves spasmed and made him wince, forcing him to stop and wait for it to pass before swinging his ax to the animals.
“Aaaaand, gotcha,” he said as his ax cut one of the pigs’ heads off. The other two squealed and ran away from him. “Oh no, you won’t you little—” he chased them and raised his ax to chop one of their heads, “—rapscallion.”
One of them managed to escape while the other’s head was rolling on the grass, almost landing in the little pond. As he bent down to grab the head, Scar saw a mop of brown hair reflected in the water. He fell to his knees when he couldn’t stay in his crouched position, and decided to look at his reflection as he waited for the ache and the soreness that took over his lower body to pass.
He carded his short brown hair with his hand, fluorescent green eyes darting around his face. His hand went down to brush the jagged scar that ran from his temple to his jaw and traced the one on his nose to his cheekbone, surprised he didn’t feel any pinching sensation while he was talking to himself. His skin was sun-kissed, his arms were quite muscular, he had broad shoulders and quite a large form. Not to mention the beginnings of well-toned abs. He wondered what he did in his other life to end up in a shape like this.
When he could get up, Scar took the bodies of the two beheaded pigs to the cliffside, and placed them on the ground close to the crafting table. He sat down and poked at the dead animals.
How could he make them edible? He snacked on the apples he found, feeling energized every time he ate one, even making his lower body feel weightless. He poked the skin of one of the dead pigs, wondering how he could make them edible while munching his apple. He wanted the meat of the pigs, so he had to find a way to have access to said meat.
  He took his stone sword and cut the body of the pigs in half. His knees cracked when he crouched and almost fell, as if his hips could not hold him in this position. But nausea caught in his throat as coagulated blood ended up everywhere before he could focus on the instability of his hips.
His ankles were shaking, it was getting harder to keep his position, so he placed his knees on the ground, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing this awful process. He needed food, the apples weren’t going to last him long, and he’d need to find a shelter before the night came.
Scar took out the organs he could see. They were covered in blood, squishy in his hands. He swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. The pigs were quite big, he ate an apple in order to use the little energy he had to skin them and make them edible.
He turned the dead animals around while getting rid of the skin that protected them, placed the organs to the side, and got as much meat as he could from the bones.
He sat on his butt with a big sigh, taking a breather from the horrid smell and the vicious sight. It’s only when the sun had passed its zenith that he put the meat on the stone. His hands were bloody and his pants dirtied.
He groaned and tried to get up. Nothing moved except his arms, and even then, it was hard to get them to grasp the rocks on the cliff to help him stand up. The last apple he ate was probably a couple of hours ago, and no way he was gonna eat raw meat.
He tried a second time, his legs buckled underneath him, landing on his butt harshly. He needed to cook the chops he made. He looked at the recipes, chanting “c’mon” under his breath to find something that would help him cook the meat. His eyes landed on the word “Furnace”.
“A-ha! Furnace!” He grinned at his victory.
The description was exactly what he was looking for. He rolled his shoulders back to soothe the soreness and tenderness he felt, closed his eyes to dim the ache behind them, and brought his focus back on the recipe, mumbling the instructions to himself. He needed the stone he mined earlier and his crafting table.
Scar glanced at the crafting table beside him. It would be hard for him to use it while sitting down, but getting up wasn’t an option when he knew his legs would buckle underneath him and wouldn’t be able to hold his body weight. He tried getting on his knees to at least see what he was doing.
He used the cliff and the crafting bench to help him, and with great difficulty, managed to be on his knees. He crafted the furnace and placed it beside the crafting table, using its support to scooch around. He put the coal he mined earlier and the pork chops in the furnace, waiting for them to cook.
Scar observed his surroundings, finding something to occupy his hands. Maybe getting more stone wouldn’t hurt anyone. He took his stone pickaxe in one hand and tried to raise it above his head to break the stone. Before he could even do that, the pickaxe became heavy in his grip, making it almost impossible to raise it above his head. Like his arm couldn’t go further than a certain angle. He rolled his shoulders, massaged them a bit and tried again.
Fool him once, shame on him. Fool him twice, shame on him again, apparently, because his arms still couldn’t reach above his head in order to swing at full force against the stone.
He groaned, giving up, and crafted more tools with the stone he managed to mine. He sat down close to the warmth of the furnace. He looked at the sky and couldn’t see the sun anymore. He saw hues of orange and a cool blue submerging most of the sky. Night was coming soon and he didn’t even have a shelter. But first, he needed something to stabilize himself, to help him move around with minimum energy.
Scar searched in his inventory for anything and found a couple of sticks from the branches of the tree he punched. He took them in his hand, inspecting them. He used them to stand up and measured every one of them to see which one would be best for his height. The one he chose was just below his waist, but it’d do for now.
He inspected the stick, unconsciously sitting on the crafting table. He couldn’t wrap his hand around the stick, it was too short for that, he would need something on top of it to hold it properly. How could he attach two different pieces together? He checked his inventory and found some residual leafs, some long enough to wrap around.
He winced. It wouldn’t stay for long, but it was all he had, so until he could find a better way to attach them together, this would have to do. He placed a small stick on top of the longest stick he had, wrapping leafs around it to temporarily secure it. He used the wall and the stick to stand up, legs trembling slightly at the weight on them. He grunted, stabbed the stick to the ground, and tested his balance. Scar had to bend in order to use his walking stick correctly, but not to the extreme that it would bother his movements.
He wondered how he managed to hurt himself so badly. He dug and dug in his memories, but just couldn’t grasp the reason. Did he get stung by an insect that affected muscles' articulation? He hadn’t seen any insects so far, it wasn’t a likely possibility. Clearly, he had a life before appearing in this clearing. A life that still affected him and left him clueless about what was going on with his body.
A burning smell reached his nostrils, and he sniffed the air to identify it. It smelled strong and sweet, like something tender and juicy was being cooked.
“Oh my gosh,” he realized out loud, “the pork!”
He landed on his knees in front of the furnace (much to the detriment of his calves), and searched inside for the pork chops. He let out a “a-ha!” when he found them and took them out with his bare hands.
Big mistake.
“Ow!” he yelled, dropping the burning meat on the ground. He put his fingers in his mouth, salivating around them to cool down the burn.
Scar cursed at himself for not thinking clearly and took one of the last sticks in his inventory to bring the pork chops closer to him. He took the coal out of the furnace, stepping on it to minimize a fire risk. It was a beautiful clearing, it would be sad for all of it to burn down. He waited for his food to cool before eating it with his non-burnt hand, landing on his butt after finding it difficult to sit on his knees for too long.
A wave of energy engulfed him, relaxing the tension around his lower neck and relieving some ache in his hips and shoulders. He could start working on his shelter if he felt better. He put the other three pork chops he managed to make edible in his inventory and took his walking stick.
Much to his dismay, with his frantic movements, the two pieces that were barely holding together separated. He groaned, and put them back where they were, wrapping the long and lean leaf around them, tying a knot. He stood up, still using the furnace and the stick to help him.
When he found his balance (even when the small stick was threatening to fall off at any moment), the sky became darker. Night was coming, and he forgot to craft torches and still didn’t have a shelter. He mentally slapped himself and quickly made some as the world submerged in twilight.
Scar placed one torch when he heard a groan. He looked behind him and couldn’t believe his eyes. Was that a zombie? It was slowly approaching him. He froze, not knowing what to do. Then, something sharp pierced his shoulder. He grunted, shoulder pushed back, and used the torch to see who shot an arrow at him.
His eyes widened.
A skeleton was on top of the hill, readying its bow once again. The zombie was getting closer, and he needed to get out of here. He hastily grabbed his crafting bench and his furnace, put them in his inventory, and began mining a hole in the cliff. It’d have to do as a shelter for now.
Something grabbed him and ate a piece of his flesh, right on his injured shoulder. He screamed and elbowed the thing behind him with as much force as he could muster. The zombie backed away with a sharp groan. Scar took out his stone sword and plunged it in the monster’s stomach. Another arrow hit his bitten shoulder. Again.
His legs were shaking, his hands trembled, and he forgot how to breathe. He took out his sword from the monster, not looking at it to see if it was dead, and quickly dug himself in a hole. He closed it when he had enough space for his body, dodging the arrows the skeleton shot mercilessly at him. He tried to bring his breathing back to normal, but it took him much more time than he would’ve liked.
After composing himself, Scar placed a torch, mined a larger hole (with great difficulty), and looked at his shoulder. Blood trailed down his chest, and he regretted not getting water from the pond. He didn’t have anything to clean the wound. He looked down, questioning why he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and saw his ripped pants. It was the best thing he had for the job.
Scar sat down, his body stiffen with tension, feeling every bit of pain the injury inflicted on him as he tried to cut the bottom of his pants. With laborious efforts (it was a feat and a half to bring his legs up towards him), he managed to get a piece and cleaned the blood off of himself. The piece of clothing was immediately soaked the closer it got to the wound. He also needed to get the arrows out of his wounded shoulder.
It was a painful process. Cutting the bottom of his pants, trying his best to clean the wound, pulling the arrow out, screaming, using the cloth to hold the blood in. Repeat.
In the end, his body slumped against the harsh stone wall, exhausted, adrenaline drained. He let out a big exhale and ate a pork chop. His mind wandered. If there were zombies, that meant there was civilization somewhere. That meant having supplies to heal his wound. That meant getting better materials for his walking stick.
His eyes landed on an iron ore. Could he collect the iron and forge armor? He really needed protection after that encounter, and tools weren’t gonna protect him from flying arrows and zombie bites. He gasped.
“Will I turn into a zombie?” he asked out loud. How did he know you could turn into a zombie if they bit you was beyond him, but he knew it. Scar figured if he was gonna turn into a zombie, he would’ve felt the effects by now. Fortunately, he didn’t turn into a brain-eating monster after minutes of holding his breath.
He ate another pork chop and felt his energy regenerated. He could mine, find out what sort of ore there was deep down, below him. He stood up, using his stick and the stone to help him up. His legs trembled, and he felt exhausted, but he needed to get out of this place, needed to find a village.
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911ficrecs · 2 years
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Actually, Truly by MilenaDaniels - 14,114 words, teen+
Summary: Isabel calls to tell them Eddie's been shot on a Thursday afternoon and by lunch on Friday Helena and Ramon are landing at LAX. When they land, they learn Eddie's already home recovering and has been for two weeks.
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Or, Helena (and Ramon) tries to find a way back into Eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding Buck around every corner she turns.
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mushroom-for-art · 7 months
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I am feeling WAYS that God damn Mightyena is gonna catch these HANDS
This is a situation that occurred in Rue au likely after "Cave In" but obviously before "And it all went wrong" or whatever I called my chapters, Rue Captain and that Mightyena belong to @blues-sues, enjoy!
You're lying
The security door slide open with a soft hissing, in the doorway the chimera Zoroark stood looking into the room face like always unreadable.
"Rue. Follow me." it was a simple demand and they had already started to walk away, Rue quickly scrambled to put the book back on its shelf and fly after her superior following them down the corridors thinking that she was sure they didn't have training today but perhaps plans had changed.
When they turned a corner to go a different route Rue felt her confusion grow but she didn't question silently floating after knowing better than to speak when not spoken to. They ascended up some stairs into an area she'd never been in before there was glass panels surrounding a dome like shape looking down and as Rue followed Captain to a humans side she cast a look down seeing from a different angle the very familiar battle arena, and, a very familiar two stood inside looking around, noticeably lacking her usual metal accessories.
The impatient huff made Rue realise she'd stopped to stare down into the arena quickly floating over and stopping respectfully, feet touching the floor looking at the human superior. They didn't regard her looking down into the battle arena.
"Where were you yesterday night Rue." Captain spoke simply, looking at Rue with a steady cold gaze.
"Yesterday, night? I was in my room after having gotten patched up from the scouting mission." The question baffled her slightly, where else would she have been at night but her own room? The only time she'd be elsewhere is if she was out on a mission or doing night training.
The human she didn't recognise brought a radio to their mouth, "release it into the arena." Rue felt her brows furrow daring to look away towards the glass down into the arena and feeling immediately her stomach drop.
Dark fur stood already bristled hackles raised as the Mightyena claws at the ground underneath it, gleaming white teeth catching the lights as May turned to look at them in confusion.
"Yesterday night the kitchen in sector b was ransacked, did you know that?" Rue blinked to look over at the human but quickly brought her eyes back not daring to let the Mightyena out her sight as it paced.
"No? I, thought I heard about something happening in passing but I didn't know exactly what happened." The hum from the human sent an uncomfortable twinge down her spine.
"Do you know where your friend had been yesterday night."
"Look at your superior when they're speaking to you Rue." Captains voice cut through her coldly as she was forced to look away looking towards Captain and the human superior.
"She was helping the other Grunts with the unloading and stock checking of supplies after we returned from our away mission under the order and watch of Admin Marigold, sir." Rue recalled how the Admin had hollered at and collared May for following Rue back to the building telling her to get back and make herself useful while Rue was taken to be patched up. She hadn't seen May since with their differing schedules.
The Superior blinked slowly letting out a soft hiss as he inhaled, "That's a shame Rue, May said the exact same thing, we were quite hoping you'd have had more sense." Rue felt confusion take over her senses as he lifted the radio to his mouth, "Begin."
Rues head whipped around at the immediate snarl just catching sight of the Mightyena lunging forward across the arena to attack with May stumbling and immediately trying to run to get away. Panic stress fear and confusion took over Rues senses.
"What's going on?! I told you what you wanted, why are you doing this?!" Rues hands came to the glass blood splattered from Mays tail as a sharp swipe caught her in passing as the beast leapt for her before quickly giving chase again upon landing.
"I hadn't realised she was so questioning." Rue didn't acknowledge them as the superior remarked to Captain in a disapproving tone.
"You shouldn't ask questions, Rue. You'll be told what you need to know when you need to know it." Rue had to bite back the apology on her tongue as Captain chastised her.
"Your little orange friend has access to the kitchen, we're aware that she's been using that to bring you food and drinks not authorized by your nutritionist, which goes against our order. We know she used that access so that you could both plunder the kitchen during the night, reducing our resources and leaving a mess." Rue did look away to stare at the superior open mouth in confusion and betrayal at the assumption they continued.
"Had you just admitted that rather than lying to protect yourself and your partner in the act we could've avoided all this." They lied simply with no sense of irony or hypocrisy, "but now we've had to take action to punish accordingly and teach you and the other mewtwo a lesson so that you don't repeat this."
"Thats, that's not fair!" Rue was surprised by her own voice but she continued, "we did not do what you're accusing us of! Ask Admin Marigold! Check the cameras! This isn't-!"
"Rue." Captains voice was a simple short snap and she felt all her confidence and words die in her throat as they looked at her and slowly slightly shook their head giving her a level disappointed gaze that almost shattered the rest of her esteem.
Mays screaming pulled her away from Captains glare blood was splattered across walls and the arena floor, sharp claws were slashing into the flesh of her tummy section over and over again as Mightyena pinned her by the tail under its back legs. Rues fists hit the glass without her even thinking about it.
"Get off her! Stop it!" Rues fists hit the glass again banging at it repeatedly, Mightyena looked up at the sound and although it couldn't see Rue through the tinted glass it still smirked raising a paw and placing it on Mays cheek pressing her face into the floor of the arena in an act of sheer degrading and dominance claws sinking into flesh. Rue hit the glass again and a crack began to form.
"That is enough!" Captain barked at her, pulling her away from the glass so she couldn't hit it by the wrist like a parent dragging their child. "You have embarrassed me enough Rue. Cease."
Hot shame prickled in Rues veins threateningly burning at her eyes at Captains words unable to meet their gaze as her arms and fists shook. Captain looked as though they would say more but stopped deciding to leave the weight of their words to eat away at Rue instead.
In the arena May attempted to shove the furred beast off of her struggling and kicking at the flooring beneath her trying to get leverage or summon any strength as she shoved an arm under the Mightyena one hand grabbing it's throat the other arm pressed against it's ribs as she gave a mighty shove to free herself. Before she could even get back up she yelled out in pain as it sank it's teeth into her arm and to her horror they began to shake their head ragging and rattling her like a ragdoll pulling on her arm as they snarled gleefully tongue licking over the bloody arm in its mouth as it yanked. Teeth crushing down cutting through skin muscle nerves, it stopped to adjust its grip to bite down again using it's back teeth to crush bone, it kept pulling and yanking as she continued to scream, intending to rip the whole arm out the socket.
Rue could feel herself shaking, every part of her brain screaming to move to do something to say something to stop this from happening, her eyes locked onto the horrific display below as the Mightyena attacked and ravaged her friend, one of the only other people who was ever really kind to her, who said that they liked her that she was a good friend, even though Rue knew she wasn't the strongest and therefore that couldn't have been right.
'Cease.' Captains voice echoed over and over in her head, 'That's enough," why? It wasn't fair, none of this was fair they didn't do it they weren't being given a fair chance May couldn't fight she was just getting hurt for something she never did, neither of them did, it wasn't right, it wasn't right! How much longer would they let this continue?? How long till they decided she'd suffered enough for a crime she never committed?!
Her whole body was shaking; she felt rooted to the spot in vines and she wanted to break free from them as they metaphorically bound her in place, squeezing her into obeying. Her mind came into focus once again as May let out a different strangled down, Rue watched her eyes go white and a small field of psychic energy form and knock the Mightyena backwards to the other side of the arena. She watched as the other with a trembling exhausted bleeding body stood up and realised quickly what caused that scream, her arm that was reduced to that stupid mutts chew toy was hanging limply from its socket dangling unnaturally in a way that made Rue feel sick.
The psychic throw hadn't been enough to deter the Mightyena, watching in growing horror it simply shook off the toss before in slow motion Rue watched it's claws sink into the flooring to propel and throw itself forward to resume the attack on her friend, if it got her arm again it could do irreversible damage and her superiors clearly weren't calling the battle off, how much more would she have to go through?! It might kill her, if not losing her arm would be an even worse sentence. The mental image burned into her mind of her friend missing her arm, can't carry a tray anymore, can't help with lifting, can't carry equipment, she'd become obsolete, they… Rue didn't even know what they'd do, but she knew she couldn't just stay there.
Invisible vines and roots snapping as Rue flew forward, psychic energy smashing the glass exploding it inwards towards the arena before she hit it and quickly shooting the glass shards towards the Mightyena, impaling the flooring and parts of its body as it snarled at Rue.
"That's enough, you're not hurting her anymore!" Rue found her voice and movement that had hidden from her once more, energy collecting in her palm she threw the dark energy at the snarling mutt. Captain hurried to the broken glass panel looking down into the arena in horror to how this defiance reflected back into them, horror turning quickly to rage as they glowered down at Rue fighting the Mightyena. If it took her other eye it would be deserved, they thought.
Behind them a grunt came up the stairs as Rue ducked and dodged and defended against the Mightyena, not allowing it the chance to continue its assault on her friend. The grunt came and muttered something as Rue's tail slammed into the Mightyena, sending it flying across the arena. It's laughter only caused Rues anger to boil.
"Two mewtwo to defeat in one day, maybe they'll see just how ordinary and unspecial you really are!" It snarled as it lunged forward for Rue energy forming on its fangs and claws before it's body turned red reducing to data back into a pokeball, adrenaline still ran through Rues body as she frantically looked around floating to her friends side as she looked up at the broken glass panel.
"Admin Marigold has confirmed your story, an unregistered Deino was also captured in sector b. You're free to go to medbay then to each of your rooms." Rue felt herself growing hot with anger feeling ready to explode, 'free to go to medbay?! Free to go?! No apology? Did they expect us to go to our rooms injured?!" Had it not been for Mays weak hand grabbing onto Rue for support as she stumbled forward she may have unleashed her temper upon the superior who spoke watching them casually unsympathetic and unapologetic.
Instead Rue could only bow her head, knowing her voice would betray her carefully pulling Mays good arm over her shoulders as she wrapped her arm around her to support her gently covering her body is psychic energy to float them both out the room, managing a whispery "it's okay I've got you," at the whimper her friend made. Would they have even stopped the fight had the grunt not come? When would there be enough blood?
Rues head was swimming as she floated them both to medbay, she didn't even realise tears of frustration and confusion were running down her face until she felt Mays hand awkward reach and brush her cheek from where it was around her shoulders.
"Dont cry, please don't cry Rue im okay," Rue could only stare at her bewildered as despite it all she smiled and tried to reassure her. What if she hadn't been okay? What if it didn't stop..
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Prove It
Summary: Noise could just learn to fight again using the side of his body that has visibility.  But that's too easy.
For the first couple weeks, Noise gets their ass handed to them a lot.  Their side is often bruised, or their back, or in worst-case scenarios, their face.
So he practices more.  That’s the only option, obviously.  He will not allow himself to have a handicap.  Not one he can’t overcome, at least.  He will not give the Bard King the satisfaction.
So he practices, and practices, and practices.  He improves his skills, and balance, he learns how to hold his head so he can see as much as possible, and when he can’t, he learns how to judge where things will be based on what he hears.
It takes several months, but eventually, Noise is better at fighting on their blind side than they are on their good side.  And something in their chest finally relaxes at the thought.  It’s like saying, “See?  I can do it.  You didn’t hurt me that badly, and if you did, I beat it.”
In fact, there are times it seems to be an advantage, because people tend to underestimate him when they see him holding a sword on the same side he has an eyepatch.  He can kick their ass and surprise them while doing it, which is better than just kicking their asses in the first place.  It should be obvious to everyone that he’s perfectly capable, he’s just proved it.
For some reason, though, they can’t get rid of the annoying voice in the back of their head that keeps demanding they do more.  That they have further to go.  It sounds suspiciously like the voices that hiss in their ear as they pass them in the hallway “you didn't earn that chair.”
There’s another voice, too, one that instead of demanding more, demands he rest.  That one sounds suspiciously like Youngblood, probably because Youngblood was the one that would always tell him to rest.
He’d have ridiculous amounts of work as first chair too, but he’d still make time to show up in Noise’s doorway, scoop them up from their desk, and carry them over to their bed.
“You’re going to burn yourself out,” he’d say, giving them a look.  “Or hurt yourself.  And then you can tell me who’s gonna take care of your ass while you recover, cause it’s not gonna be me.”
It was always him.
But Noise can’t afford to slow down now.  He can’t take one more person saying that he didn’t earn that chair.  If no one can see how hard and how long he’s worked for this (without even getting it at first, for that matter), then he has to force them to see it.  He just has to prove to everyone else what he already knows, that he’s more capable of this than Youngblood ever was.  It doesn’t matter how exhausted he is.  Lack of sleep comes with the job description.  It’s not like he’s finding it easy to sleep lately anyway.  Tonight he’s been trying and failing for the past hour.
Noise rolls over in bed and wraps their tail around their burned arm.
See, Youngblood?  You didn’t hurt me that badly.  I’m fine.  Even the Bard King deciding to partially blind me can’t stop me from landing back on my feet.  I’m fine, I’m thriving.  You’re going to regret leaving once you see how amazing I’m doing without you.
Noise turns and buries his head in his pillow.
You are going to regret leaving, right?
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andromedasummer · 1 year
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been rewatching old endurance races just listening to them in the background while i draw/plan dnd stuff/play games. watching spa 24 hrs from 2021 and completely forgot about the accident about 30 mins in. got to be some of the strangest broadcast behaviour ive seen in a race, and i say that as someone who has done papers on live broadcast and its rules.
obviously normal protocol for a big crash is you wait for the drivers to get out and confirm theyre okay/on their way to the medical center. then the crash is shown once or twice to give viewers and comms clarification of the incident along with info about the drivers wellbeing/insight into what may have happened to cause it.
but what happened here caused way more anxiety. mid normal commentary race director comes on radio calling a full course yellow. comms have no idea whats caused it and assume a car has broken down on track and needs to be moved.
in reality, an incredibly severe crash occured at what i believe is the most dangerous corner in motorsport, most dangerous on track for sure. 4 car collision, all drivers sent to the medical center, 2 discharged and 2 sent to hospital 40 mins later (i remember aitken suffered spinal/chest injuries and a broken arm but he made a full recovery)
but none of the commentators are ever told what happened. people working the cameras are careful not to show anything because you don't show a crash/wreck until you know the drivers are okay, basic respect. but no one is telling the broadcast team anything. so for the next 40 minutes, the fcy continues and the comms and the viewers are left to speculate about what's happened and they aren't positive speculations, especially when people who saw the crash in front of their stands start tweeting and sharing photos/vids/what they saw online. this kind of thing (official sources being quiet around a crash and tip-toeing) does happen, but its normally when an accident has been fatal.
of course everything turned out okay. after the 40 mins passed, the race director came on over the radio and informed the drivers and viewers that 2 of the drivers were discharged from the med centre and two were going to hospital with non-life threatening injuries. im very surprised to have seen this kind of breakdown of communication happen. certainly its better safe than sorry and i'd rather have a nonfatal crash never shown during a race runtime than a fatal crash be replayed to death. but there comes a point where what is not being shown begins to imply a very distressing scenario. its not an easy position to put a commentator in, asking them to talk in the gaps with this uneasy fear hanging over them for an odd hour. and its distressing for fans who may be friends and family watching abroad to have the main feed not address what happened, or even who was involved.
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weregreatatcrime · 8 months
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I'm sick and rereading Two Halves and I know I leave a lot (A LOT) of stuff in the end notes but there's actually lots of stuff I still never mention or talk about so here's a long sick (midday) ramble about things I didn't get the chance to talk about but wanted to (in somewhat of an order reminded by rereading) or at least just some lines I particularly enjoyed
It's time for chapter 7 while I fight off the sick urge to Nap. Warning for VERY dark content including suicidal ideation and Murder
I really enjoyed this chapter because I got to fully embrace and showcase some of Karai’s sadistic, bloodthirsty nature that I just hadn't been able to show yet. She's a changeling and a raised and trained assassin who hates humans. She can get NASTY when she's given the opportunity to, and the fic hadn't allowed that before this chapter. Finally I got to write my true murder girl 🧡
The very secret game between Shredder and Karai over what Foot ninja are loyal to whom. Some genuinely would rather follow Karai than him, while others just see her as a lesser of two evils. Of course this isn't all very up front- Shredder is in charge first and foremost, so of course, they all obey him. Some just... prefer to listen to the heir, when given the chance...
Shredder allows the heresy only because it's something of a game between father and daughter :) Plus she'll inherit the clan anyways, it's good to have men who will be immediately loyal to her when she does. The majority are still loyal to Him.
Even ninjas forget to look Up sometimes. Especially in their super secure throne room that shouldn't be Capable of having spies around
"Prime indicator that [Shredder] was smug about something that probably violated the Geneva Convention."
Xever was my FAVORITE villain in 2k12 as a kid. Nowadays it's Stockman, but I still have a lot of fondness for the evil murder fish
Changeling Karai makes a game of tormenting her father's Lieutenants, and Xever is her favorite toy. He's thoroughly petrified of her. He's one of the few who knows even a bit of just how far her sadistic nature goes
Karai’s first reaction to hearing she'd been *seen* while doing a secret mission was to launch herself headfirst off the roof and I wish I could say that's hyperbole, but uh, nope, that's quite literally her greatest fear and can result in her death so suicide can potentially be a better way to go than risking being hunted down by the Order
Xever thoroughly believes Karai is just manipulating the turtles so she can get in close and stab em where it hurts. From his experience, this is absolutely what she would do, and Karai has never proved him wrong about her malicious streak before
Xever equally as terrified of the Shredder because of the fact that she CLEARLY got it from him
Karai WISHES she could blow everything up on the way out like Stockman, but she can't risk the Order sticking their noses in before she's done. So she's gotta settle with dropping a metaphorical bomb instead
Karai, maybe leaving Shinigami on read is actually the WORSE option than not leaving her any sign at all
While thinking of what Karai would make into her changeling key, it didn't take me very long to think of something she would frequently have on her that would be inconspicuous. Eyeliner. That red is fire
Changelings have a LOT of backups and backups for backups
"Xever was fond of severing fingers, and she didn’t want to have to cauterize anything mid rescue."
The entire rescue scene just makes me happy. This is Karai in her element. Killing people right in plain sight without being caught, disappearing with their corpses before they're seen. This is changeling Karai doing what she was trained her whole life to do and she is GOOD at it.
Donnie was in fact drugged a second time to keep him down for a bit
Karai personally when picking a hostage turtle would've picked either Mikey or Leo, but she doesn't know about Shredder’s own plan for Donnie, so she's a bit puzzled
Personally, if Karai had designed it, rather than a bomb she would've used a biochemical agent that could've been pumped right into his bloodstream on either a programmed signal or upon someone attempting to remove it. What that agent would be would entirely depend on how much she hated the person in question
Karai has a real love for poisons that doesn't get a lot of time to shine, but it DOES pop in here and there
Despite her fucking with him, Karai did always respect Xever more than a lot of other Lieutenants. He's a lot more cunning and willing to use underhanded tactics which of course appeals to her
Ngl tempted to write a whump one-shot of what would've happened if Karai HAD shown up a bit later for the rescue
I ranted enough about fish biology in the end notes, I don't need to go on about it again here
Karai paralyzed Xever with he sword through the neck, but he WAS still alive. Just completely unable to do anything about it. Hence why she initially assumed he was dead. Sword through the skull was enough to end it though
Actually sending a sword through his thick skull required a lot of muscle, hence why she needed to put some oomph into it. Her changeling form would've managed fine but human form is a lot weaker
Imagine the scene they walked into later. Two dead foot ninja, Xever dead with Karai’s sword placed dramatically through the top of his head, the turtle missing, NONE of the cameras working, and the ONLY thing they have is a few clips of Karai sneaking in and one single shot of her dragging Donatello out of the lab while flipping off the camera. Fucking amazing
Yes, I play dnd. Sometimes when writing I use a d20 to make decisions when I can't decide because all my options are tempting. It's a great writing hack- especially because if you REALLY hate your roll, you discover that you actually did have a preferred option
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ears on the floor were pressed to the ground
Cody runs afoul of some of Coruscant's more brutal citizens.
Title taken from the poem The Colonel by Carolyn Forché.
Prompt: Beaten Down.
You can find the whole collection on AO3 here.
(tw hate crimes, prejudice against clone troopers, brief references to noncon, internalized victim blaming, violence, beating, blood, gore, childhood trauma, past childhood abuse, self-sacrifice)
They don't really know how to punch, of course. They've got no training, save perhaps whatever they've learned from the occasional bare-knuckled street fight. Either way, they're all clearly too drunk or high to coordinate their hits very well.
But the thing is, there are a lot of them, or at least it feels like a lot, and it's harder to stand up to the blows when they're coming from everywhere at once. Not to mention that Cody himself isn't entirely sober right now; plus, he'd made the stupid fucking decision to go out for the night in his dress grays, thinking his armor would attract too much attention.
He tries to duck away from a blow to the cheek and slips, garbage crunching under his heel. One of them hits him with a particularly vicious punch to the stomach and he's down, crashing to his knees on the hard Coruscanti pavement.
Sloppy, soldier, a trainer says, a million miles away, when Cody is young and small and hasn't eaten for what feels like days. On your feet.  
"Get up, meatdroid," one of the strangers whines, disappointed at the fun ending so quickly. He quicks Cody in the ribs, sharp and vicious.
Too slow, though. Cody could wrap him by the ankle as he wanted to, seize him in a bruising grip and yank the legs out from under him. Even in his impaired state, he could haul himself upright and take the rest of them out in three minutes tops. Or he could grab the blaster he's got strapped to his thigh, switch it to stun and fire, take them all out in a few heartbeats....
He won't, of course. They're Republican citizens, after all, and this is Coruscant, where any attempt to threaten them for interfering with military personnel (or at the very least, military equipment) would fail without an on-planet war to back it up. The men gathered around him may be cruel and mean-spirited, but they're not stupid.
They've heard the Senators bitching the same as Cody has, going on about "unruly clones" clogging the streets of their pristine city. Some of them have been making noise about confining clones to the barracks, forcing the Corries to arrest their own for even appearing on the streets and marking up offenders for decommission.
Cody would be held as an example, another bad egg, and he can't do that to his brothers. They'd go crazy trapped in their barracks like that, especially after so long being confined on their ships, so many painful memories of Kamino.
He can't let himself be decommissioned, either, not when it means leaving his vod'ike behind. Maybe it's arrogant to think they need him, but it's true. He's in charge of the 212th more than Kenobi is most days, overlooking too many spinning parts to easily pass onto someone else.
And Cody can't risk getting caught killing these bastards, either. If he was caught, it would be a thousand times worse than the fallout from the Slick Incident and that had ended with the "accidental" gassing of three entire batches of vod'ika back on Kamino.
So instead, he grits his teeth and pushes himself upright, back straight, head high. He aches all over and there's blood dripping from his nose, but his head is still clear enough--for now--to look his attackers directly in the face.
One of them chuckles. "Good boy." He pats Cody on the head, fingers pausing to card through Cody's hair. Nausea twists in Cody's gullet, another type of fear rearing its ugly head, but he keeps his face blank.
"The man was nice to you," someone croons. "Why don't you thank him?"
Think about the younger ones, Alpha told him once. Think about the younger ones, and you can endure anything.
"Thank you...sir." It hurts to say, and not just because his mouth feels like it's gone several rounds with a meat tenderizer already.
Everyone is sir to a meat droid, that's what the trainers told them. It doesn't show because they really interact with civilians, but even outside the GAR, they are lesser than lesser. Plenty of actual droids can call random strangers whatever the hell they please with no repercussions.
They're laughing, laughing, and then they're hitting him again. Cody rocks back slightly under the hail of blows, but he's got himself in a drier spot now and for the moment, he can stay upright. That irritates them almost as much as his falling did and they hit harder, kicks and punches flying so viciously they clobber each other a few times, even yell at each other about it, though not enough to stop.
But Cody's held still for beatings before. Sometimes the trainers would make that a specific order, especially when they got older and started having a chance of actually winning a fight against "real" Mando'ade. He's endured precision nerve strikes that hurt like a bitch, electro whips that hurt a lot worse than that. This is nothing, really. This is nothing.
Of course, all those trainers were contractually obligated to leave him alive, unlike these shitheads. But--but it's okay. He'll be okay.
His commlink shatters, not that they were going to let him get away with use of it. Still, the part of Cody that relentlessly manages finances for so many vode feels vaguely irritated by the expense, at least before he gets punched in the face again.
It helps, he thinks dully as a knee slams into his stomach, to think it as another punishment. Cody had been an idiot, slipping out of the back of 79s to get some air. Air, for crying out loud, like he doesn't spend his days sealed in a plastoid suit of armor. The air in there was perfectly fucking fine and he knows it. Maybe he does need a beating, knock the softness out of him.
It's just...It's just that the air conditioning in 79s was fucked, and the music was too loud, and somebody had broken down sobbing over the karaoke machine again. It's just that Rex had been drinking himself into oblivion with an intensity was that vaguely frightening, and Bly was off-planet, and Wolffe couldn't come because one of his Pack had a tummy ache or a blaster wound or some shit, and Fox would not take his fucking bucket off, and Ponds--Ponds was--
One of them kicks him between the legs and it hurts, but Ponds hurts more. Oh, so much more.  
Cody left. He left, because he just wanted to move through space that wasn't closed in like a Venator or packed with people as traumatized and miserable as he was. Did he really not fucking deserve that? Had he not earned, with all his blood and sweat and tears, with his bad dreams and aching heart, the right to walk down a Prime-damned street?
No. Of course not. He doesn't know why he thought that.
A particular rough punch finally hits with enough direction to possibly jar a tooth loose. Or maybe that was the one that was feeling wiggly after last tenday's shuttle crash, it's hard to say. Cody carefully spits it on the ground, not wanting to hit any civilians, not wanting one to take his hard work and go submit a report anyway out of spite.
They're already angry enough as it is. Anger over the war, maybe. Anger over taxes, anger over fucked supply chains, anger over Cody's presence as a reminder of how badly their old lives were getting fucked right now. Anger at the Senators, maybe, although he doubts any of them would risk their lives over one of the protests. Angry, and cruel, and trapped, and bored.  
Bored even now, with Cody's blood smearing the ground around him. Bored, maybe, because he hadn't screamed or cried for it to stop. Should he cry? Would that help things?
He can't, he won't. They're not going to take that last bit of dignity from him tonight, he won't let them. He's kept his screams locked tight between his teeth, and that's where they’ll stay (unless they order him to scream).  
Cody hadn't seen them coming, because he was drunk and tired and stupid as he wandered through unfamiliar streets. And because, to be honest, they all look like fairly respectable citizens. Not Senate class, of course, but certainly not the spiced-out lost souls and unmistakably bored hookers you usually see in filthy alleys like these.
Slumming, probably, looking to blow after steam after work. They'll go home and wash the blood off their hands, and no one with power will care. It happens. Fox had warned them, and warned them, and Cody hadn't listened, because he's an idiot and his batcher's dead and he hasn't had a very good sleep in a very long while.
They can do whatever they want to you, Fox had said. It's...intoxicating. They can't pull themselves away, and they won't be bothered to try.  
He's on his knees now, again. Second time? Third time? Either way, he doesn't feel like he can push himself up anymore. Gravel pricks his cheek and closes in his eyes, soaking the blood from his eye. Fighting back isn't really an option anymore.
A kick to the chin and his head smacks back, thunking dully against the wall. Pain blooms, but it's distant now, muffled by the ringing in his ears. That's bad, probably. Isn't that bad?
Someone slams a boot over his face, grinding his cheek into the dirt. It stings enough to cut through the haze, and Cody's knocked off kilter by now that he can finally let the slightest whimper slip loose. He hates himself for it instantly, but thankfully it's quiet enough they don't hear.
"Easy, soldier." He's fifth cycle and there's a boot on his face, a man lecturing his batchmates on where he went wrong. No one cries, but Cody thinks he can still hear the faintest sniffling. It hadn't been until later that he realized it was him. "There you go, taking your punishment like a good boy."  
They're getting bored, weary, burned out of their anger and frustration. Some of them seem almost reluctant now, backing away, their voices blurred with doubt. No, they're actually just blurred. Everything is blurry. Why is everything blurry?
One of them stamps on his wrist, over his tattooed number. "See this." He's third cycle and there's a man holding his arm tightly enough to bruise. "This means you're nothing. That skin doesn't belong to you, it belongs to the Republic, and if you want to survive long enough to get your head blown off on the battlefield, you'd best remember that."
The bones that aren't his break, the sound odd and distant. The voices rise and hum around him, men chattering idly over his head. Stuff about work, drinks, children. Ordinary things, simple things. They're just ordinary, hardworking citizens, working to let off a little steam.
Cody lets out a breath, lungs aching and stinging in his chest. He thinks he might have cracked some ribs. Maybe he's all in pieces inside, and that's where all the blood is coming from; shattered pits poking at his skinsuit, fragments clawing out of the skin.
"You're dead men walking, all of you." He doesn't remember which trainer said it, which hateful civilian screaming from the street, which vicious-eyed GAR official. "You're not alive and you never have been. You don't exist outside of us."  
"You know," someone says, "I could have sworn those things were metal inside."
"I got some of it on my shoes," someone else says. Laughter, ringing inside Cody's head like gunfire.
He blinks, blood-caked lashes fluttering red across his vision. Up and down, in and out, a dancing flame, a beating heart. Red. Red. Red. Red like the dissection videos they were forced to watch when they were children, their own brothers opened up and taken apart. Red like raw meat pulsing on the battlefield.
Red. Red for dead. Is he dead? Do they even care enough to kill him? A bubble of crimson forms and pops over his face, staining him, staining everything. Red, like blood on his thighs as he leaves the office of a man whose name he can't remember. Soaking him, staining him, unfolding him through the force of rising tide.
Red like--like a cloth. A...kama?
Cloth against his face. Armor, and somebody's leaning over him, crimson glinting. Fox's helmet, distorted and shaken through Cody's blurry vision, lit from above as he yells into--into a comlink. Calling for help while Rex kneels beside him, looking ill, his lips blurring as he says...something.
Go, Cody tries to say. Get out of here before they hurt you too. But all that comes out is a strangled, creaky groan, one that sends his poor throat stinging.
"Don't try to talk." Rex is leaning closer now, or maybe it's just that his words have finally started to make sense. "Easy, Cody." He's ripped off a piece of his uniform, dabbing at Cody's face, doing what he can for the injuries. "The medics are on their way."
Cody blinks over Rex's shoulder, but the alley is empty. There's music blasting from a nearby natborn bar and he wonders if the men who hurt him are there, ogling the dancers or simply sitting and chatting, drinking together. Perhaps they're old friends.
Another fresh burst of pain twists in his gut and he finally lets himself let out an agonized little hiss, only to instantly regret it when he processes the pain in Rex's eyes. He may be safe, but that doesn't mean he can break, at least not where his vod'ika can see.
That's how it should be, anyway. But hurt little noises emerge anyway, his weak, stupid body determined to break down in tears.
I'm sorry, he tries to say. I'm sorry. Sorry for the pain he's causing them, sorry for the bacta they'll have to waste, sorry for the blood and filth he's getting all over both of them. Sorry for leaving, sorry for being so fucking stupid, sorry sorry sorry--
"It's okay, Cody," Fox murmurs, brushing a gentle hand over Cody's shoulder. They're not hugging him, they can't with the state he's in, but they can touch him. It's a grounding force, something to hold up against the tidal wave of guilt-pain-fear-shame. "We found you, all right? We'll always find you."
How long had they looked? Maybe not long after he left the bar, when calls to his comm stopped going through. They'd wandered the streets of Coruscant, terrified, risking the chance of being spotted by citizens like the ones who'd found Cody. Trying to decide, maybe if they could risk summoning Corries to help look for a meat droid when there were precious, easily angered Senators to protect.
His blood is smeared over their armor, his pain bleeds through their skin. They weren't hurt tonight, but the knowledge doesn't make his own skin ache any less or soothe the tremble in their fingers as they brush too lightly over his flesh.
"Why do we have to keep bleeding for each other?" Cody asks—tries to, anyway. It comes out all garbled, words twisted in on themselves, and anyway his voice is mostly drowned out by the hover of a Guard transport in the distance.
"You're safe, Cody," Rex lies, stroking his hair so gently, his voice so soft, as the light embraces all three of them. "You're safe."
Cody hums in quiet acknowledgement, because he can't break Rex's heart any more than he already has by telling the truth. His eyes close as the red-tinged dark takes him away.
28 notes · View notes
niicos · 1 year
Text
andré lamoglia.  he/him.  cis male.   ›  spotted  at  the  met  steps,  nicolas  ‘nico’  salazar,  most  likely  listening  to  live  forever  by  oasis  with  their  airpods  pro.  the  twenty  two  year  old  gained  quite  a  reputation,  known  to  be  - competitive  yet  + humble  to  anyone  who  knows  them.  you'll  easily  spot  them  when  you  hear  about  training  until  the  sun  goes  down  and  crying  if  there's  a  defeat,  long  walks  in  rio  de  janeiro,  being  the  'fun  uncle',  carrying  an  entire  team  on  your  back,  followed  by  invictus  victory  by  paco  rabanne.  latest  nepoupdates  article  talks  about  late  night  out  with  brazilian  soccer  team  ends  in  a  nightmare  injury  for  salazar  –  will  he  ever  play  again?,  but  i  guess  any  reputation  is  good  reputation.  
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basic stats ;
⟶ full name: nicolas thiago mael salazar ⟶ nicknames: goes by nico, his teammates and soccer fans would call him ‘menino’ which is basically boy in portuguese ( he was the youngest guy on his team ) ⟶ three things he likes: mango with salt and lemon, dogs, luan santana ⟶ three things he dislikes: lazy people, dirty fingernails, soda ⟶ gender: cis male ⟶ height: 5 ‘ 11 ⟶ age: twenty two ⟶ birthday: october 9, 2000 ⟶ zodiac: libra sun, aquarius moon, libra ascendant ⟶ right handed or left handed: left handed ⟶ eye color: brown ⟶ hair color: light brown ⟶ piercings and tattoos: left earlobe pierced, the name ‘natalia’ tattooed on his inner right bicep in small typewriter font ( older sisters name ), small soccer ball tattoo with cleats on his wrist, brazilian flag and country in color on his inner left bicep ⟶ languages spoken: portuguese ( brazilian portuguese, also native tongue ), spanish, and english ⟶ sexuality / romantic orientation: homosexual / homoromantic  ( very recently came out ) ⟶ place of birth: porto alegre, brazil ⟶ last five songs listened to: você de mim não sai by luan santana, live forever by oasis, vou falar que não quero by vitor fernandes, eu, você, o mar e ela by luan santana, glorious by andreas johnson ⟶ five aesthetics: beat up soccer cleats, a great dane named rio, a silence so loud it echoes through the walls, chipped black nail polish, homemade pão de queijo ( brazilian cheese bread ) ⟶ character inspo: adam groff from sex education, cruz carvalho from elite, prince wilhelm from young royals
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background story ;
nicolas, or nico, as he prefers to be called, was born into an upperclass family, being the youngest child of marisol and esteban salazar, and the younger brother of natalia 
his father wanted to drop on him what he could never convince himself to do, and that was soccer. to nico, his family didn’t know a lot of things, but esteban did know one thing  –  he wanted his youngest son to be everything he never could have been
since nico had a sense of judgment, he’s been playing soccer. he’s basically been kicking a ball around since before he could even run, being officially enrolled in a team when he was only two years old
since he could remember, he’s felt a huge amount of pressure from both his parents to be the best, the usual ‘be the player your father could never be’ being thrown his way more times than not, and truthfully, despite the fact that soccer was basically thrown at him and wasn’t something he chose, nico really did like soccer. slowly but surely, it turned into his passion, something he would use as an escape from his overwhelming parents. he could always say ‘i’m gonna go to practice’ and suddenly, his parents were off his ass about everything
as time went on, nico realized how much he wanted to do this for the rest of his life. he also felt the pressure from his parents, the mindset that if he didn’t make it, he was just as bad as his older sibling, or his sister. truthfully, nico rarely ever knew where he stood at with his parents. one day they were proud of him for being the best on his team, the next they were screaming at him because he didn’t play up to their standards. nico, having a very go with the flow, non-argumentative personality, went along with what they said, telling himself that if he did make it the way he so badly desired, he would be making enough money to be far away from his parents
it was waking up at four in the morning, training for three hours, school, then training after school. on weekends, it was getting up at six am and training until 7 pm, with two forty minute breaks in between. it was beyond intense, and there was times where he would even end up sick with how hard he would go at it, but as esteban would say  –  practice makes perfect
and well... he was right. nico was an exceptional player, honestly one of the best. when he was only ten, he joined the youth academy of santos fc. at age fourteen, he had a successful trial with spain’s real madrid, and santos had to increase its spending to retain him
he made his first team debut with santos when he was sixteen, averaging a goal every other match, even winning south american footballer of the year title two years in a row, and slowly but surely, nico felt his hard work and dedication paying off. he could only dream of playing for a fifa world cup, doing this for a living for as long as he could
when he’s barely nineteen, he signs a three year contract with fc barcelona after a trade with santos in exchange for fifty eight million euros, one of the most expensive soccer transfers in history. from then on out, his life drastically changed. he moved to spain, his followers on social media began blowing up, he began getting sponsorships and deals left and right ( companies like adidas and mondeléz ) all wanted him as their ambassador, and nico can’t help but ask himself  –  how did i get here?
one moment he’s playing soccer on an average team, and the next he’s one of the biggest faces in the game, and honestly? even though it’s everything he could have wanted and more, it gives him anxiety because now not only does he feel pressure from his parents, but he also feels pressure from everyone else, practically carrying an entire team on his back at such a young age
he’s a huge example of ‘i’m not sure how this happened’ because really? even though he worked his ass off and it was something he really, really wanted, in the back of his mind, he didn’t think he would be one of the chosen few to get this far. quickly, nico began to realize how much attention he received just because he was a well known, pretty face, an official professional athlete. he went from people not giving him a second glance, to everyone wanting to be his best friend, and it’s around this time that he realizes just how much female attention his career gave him
aside from his profession, nico is a really sweet guy with good intentions, and this, along with his hefty salary, was enough to make any girl fall for him, often times teased by his teammates on how much attention he received from girls. any guy in his shoes would be thrilled, but truthfully, nico felt like something wasn’t right, but he just didn’t know what it was
to make it clear, he’s hooked up with a ton of girls, receiving a ‘fuck boy’ reputation from his teammates, pats on the back for having so much ‘game’ on and off the field, but deep down inside, hooking up with all of these pretty females left him feeling empty, and he didn’t know why. he wasn’t sure why he had to drink so much to get into it, he wasn’t sure if it was normal to not feel anything for any of the girls he was hooking up with, and he didn’t know why, in the middle of it all, he desperately wished it would be over
it isn’t until he meets a gay fan and his boyfriend, that something inside him clicks, and he thinks oh... that’s why, and truthfully, he isn’t sure how to deal with this newfound revelation. this realization comes to him a couple of days after his twenty first birthday, and even though deep inside his heart, he knows he’s gay, he does everything in his power to try to ‘ungay himself’ ( impossible nico, but okay )
his hook ups with fans become more frequent, but each time, he further realizes that as much as he wishes he could be attracted to these females, he just isn’t, and it makes his heart hurt, especially because he knows how some of the people in this industry can be. he knows that this wouldn’t settle well with a bunch of his teammates, so as much as he wants to tell everyone, he just bottles up his feelings, and continues playing
and that’s when the famous, fifa world cup 2022 comes right around the corner, his first world cup ever, so he couldn’t be more thrilled, but we all know how that ends!
the day brazil gets eliminated, him and his teammates are so upset with the outcome of the game, they rent a mansion and get trashed on their final night in qatar. nico isn’t expecting much of it, but a night of fun soon turns into nico’s worst possible nightmare ever
! injury tw, proceed with caution or skip over this if you’re triggered ! he gets so, so drunk, he fully doesn’t remember how it happened, but according to his teammates, he was attempting to walk down a flight of stairs when he trips, loses his balance, and falls off the second story of the mansion, unfortunately, fracturing his left leg ( tibia to be more specific, his left leg is also his dominant leg ), in the process
to add drama to the mix... this is not at all what happened. he did fall off the second story and he did fracture his leg, but it wasn’t an accident. one of his teammates, second best on the team, who has always been jealous of his success and being the second best, pushed him, resulting in his fall and injury, and all of his teammates were so drunk, only one of them remembers, but is caught between loyalty towards his friend, or telling the truth out of justice. if it isn’t obvious, his teammate who vividly remembers what happened, hasn’t said anything
nico wakes up the next day in the hospital, with no recollection of what happened, left leg in a cast after he had surgery, and tragically? he feels his entire world crumble beneath him. how was he so clumsy, that he fell so badly and hurt himself this way? will he ever play again? all of these thoughts, and the possibility that he may never go back to doing what he loves, really fuck with his head
to make matters even worse, the news goes viral in no time, and he doesn’t get the privacy he so desperately needs. endless dms, text messages, facetime requests, unwanted visitors at the hospital, all of people wanting to know what happened, or to give him ‘get well soon’ messages, which frankly? is the last thing nico wanted at that moment
he goes through a period of denial, where he tries convincing himself that this didn’t happen to him, that he’s dreaming and that he’ll wake up and it’ll all be over soon, but unfortunately, that’s not the case, and as much as he wants to resume playing, he’s told to do everything in his power to get better, to see if he can play again next year... next year
instead of going back to spain, he goes to new york, where his siblings live at, to attend therapy and rehab in the states in an attempt to get better sooner. for nico, this is only temporary, as his biggest wish at the moment is to fully recover and go back to spain, to play for fcb. the move was easy for nico, he stayed with his sister for a day or two until he managed to buy himself an over the top, extravagant pent house in the upper east side. he’s trying to make the best of his situation, but admittedly, what happened to him makes him deeply depressed, as he feels like his dream has been pulled from underneath him
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headcanons ;
nico is a genuinely nice guy, a huge sweetheart, but he’s an excellent liar. he’s been lying his whole life, from pretending his straight for more than half of his life, to acting like he’s perfectly fine with what happened to him. he’s a yes man, but he can be a liar. to him, the less people know, the better
he has the lightest accent when speaking english, that you can tell it’s not his native tongue right away. it’s gotten very subtle and his english has gotten a lot better, but it’s there
he loves dogs. he has a great dane he named rio ( after rio de janeiro ) who is two years old and he loves him with his whole heart. rio is a therapy dog, and has been helping him tremendously throughout this hard time he’s going through
he attends physical therapy every single day, this has helped him a lot too, but he still can’t wait to go back to doing what he loves most, ever the impatient little shit
he loves the beach, makes it his business to go back to brazil or even california at least once every two months. aside from soccer, he loves to surf too
he loves music in portuguese. his first ever genuine gay crush was luan santana, a brazilian musician. nico basically loves him. has met him three times and they mutually follow each other on twitter and instagram
he was really repressed with his sexuality growing up. honestly, he has always ‘somewhat’ known he’s gay, probably since before he was even a preteen, but with the way he grew up, he just denied it and told himself it was just a phase. it took him more than half of his life to come to terms with being gay, but he has officially come out this year after his injury through an instagram post, and even though he has received backlash, he no longer feels like he has to hide
the first person he has ever come out to, before publicly coming out, was his sister. they had a four hour call in july of this year and he spilled the tea to her, thinking that maybe, she might be put off by the news, but she was more than supportive. it was a very emotional phone call. nico even cried
he can be a very superficial person, in the sense that you can speak to him for a solid three hours, laughing, over a drink, thinking you’re getting to know him, but when the get together is over, it’ll kind of hit you like ‘wow, i don’t know anything about this guy’. he’s great at small talk, can talk your ear off, but he never lets it get too deep
his career claim is neymar. he has 181+ million followers on instagram, basically? neymar’s career, sponsorships, etc
very shocking news, but he’s somewhat of a virgin. he’s had sex with a ton of girls, but he has never had sex with a guy. he’s never even kissed one before, and he isn’t really sure what to do in this sense
he’s very physically capable, in the sense that you can tell right away that he works out ( what kind of soccer player isn’t let’s be real ). even with his injury, he lifts weights and does his best to stay somewhat active. he hates being lazy, always has to be doing something physical even if his leg currently prohibits him from doing much
he’s really big on protein, kind of a health freak. he’s not a vegan or vegetarian because he claims he could ‘never’ but he’s huge on eating right, your greens, your protein, and your grains. his cheat day is on saturday, and what does he eat for his cheat day? a chocolate chip granola bar... he’s literally a fucking sociopath out of all the treats to eat nico?
with his siblings, he will speak in portuguese with them, especially when he doesn’t want to be understood by other people. his thought process, in fact, is in portuguese, very proudly brazilian
he spoils his niece, rosie, so so much. he will go out and buy a custom made chanel kids purse that’s like 50k for her for literally no reason. because he doesn’t have kids, and he’s not sure if he ever will, he spoils this little girl so damn much. all she has to do is point and suddenly he’s buying it for her, big fun uncle energy, basically considers rosie the ‘daughter he will never have’
despite having a lot of money ( legit google soccer players salaries to get an idea ), nico is a very humble guy. if he likes something, he doesn’t care if it’s a luxury brand or not, but he will get it. he isn’t one to care if he’s dressed from head to toe in designer things, and he doesn’t let the fame get to his head. he’s always willing to take a picture with someone or sign his autograph for them, and he has a very zen like aura to him
however, he is very competitive. call it the athlete in him, but he is not a fan of losing. you will watch him go from twenty two to seven years old real quick, even if it’s something as simple as a card game
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wanted connections ;
i will help you through thick and thin: someone, any gender, who has maybe helped him throughout his injury. like ‘let me get this for you’ ‘no sit down, i’ll get it’, nico is most likely annoyed with them because he hates feeling incapable, but this muse just wants to help him
i’m your biggest fan: someone who loves soccer, who loves his career? could be any gender, they could be friends or they could not be friends, but this muse thinks his career is really cool and may or may not be out there starting prayer circles for him to get better and go back out on the field as soon as possible
our dogs are best friends: a muse who has a dog as well, could be any breed of dog, who surprisingly has become best friends with his great dane, rio. they see each other at the park and when they’re not getting bombarded with paparazzi’s, their dogs are out there being the best of friends
is it weird we’ve hooked up before?: open to multiple females, but girls he’s hooked up with in the past that he really has no feelings for. they could be friends now, they could hate him or feel used by him, anything can be plotted with this!
you’re the demon on my shoulder: a bad influence! nico is very health conscious, barely even drinks, doesn’t smoke or do any types of narcotics, so maybe this muse could peer pressure him unintentionally and be a genuine bad influence, whether it’s alcohol and narcotics wise or in any other aspect
maybe we’re confidants, or maybe we’re just bored: someone who he has gotten strangely close with, that they share information back and forth. very unlike nico because he’s a very private person, but they’ve created an unusual bond, basically trust buddies
why’d you only call me when you’re high?: someone nico is cool with, that once called him at three am in the morning, high off their ass, and nico went to go pick them up because they were too messed up to drive. at this point, it’s become somewhat of a habit for this muse to call him at ungodly hours in the morning, fucked up and needing a friend. nico comes to pick them up every damn time, somewhat overprotective of them now, a dad friend if you must
i hate that bitches skirt, too: someone he just talks shit with. they go out and talk shit about people, judge people, this muse brings out nico’s inner bitch. they will see a poor girl walking by and rate her outfit on a scale of donate to goodwill, to ten
you were my first: open to males, but... maybe the first guy he does anything with? could be very wholesome and i feel like this would have to go off of chemistry, but it would be somewhat special to nico so the vibes would have to be just right
or we could brain storm! gonna put his birthchart below and end this here because this is too long
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birthchart ;
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4 notes · View notes
Text
Lightbulb: I wasn't hurt that badly. Test Tube said all my bleeding was internal, that's where the blood's supposed to be!
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schrijverr · 2 years
Text
Old Wounds May Scar, but They Never Stop Hurting
Mike used to be in the Army before he ran into Harvey. He doesn’t like talking about what he saw back then or the injuries he suffered. However, when they prevent him from getting up, Harvey steps in and helps him, not only with the pain, but also in getting better accessibility at work.
AKA I give Mike chronic pain, cane swag and shit on the US Military and healthcare for 13k words.
@flawsome4ever I hope this is what you expected, sorry for the length, but this prompt gripped me by the throat and inspired me!
On AO3.
Ships: none
Warnings: The US Army, the US healthcare system, war, mentions of old injuries and death, chronic pain, interalized ableism, trauma, reference to drug addiction.
~~~~~~~~~~
In hindsight Harvey will wonder how it took him this long to notice and then he’ll look at Mike’s thin figure and fail again to see a soldier in there. However, sometimes when Mike levels his eyes at him, he wonders how anyone could ever miss it.
Yet, Harvey consoles his bruised ego about people reading with the fact that there were some things that he picked up. Despite the fact that they didn’t click until later.
When they first meet, Harvey notes the calloused hand that shakes his. He shakes a lot of hands. He shakes the hands of the powerful, of the wealthy, of the desk job workers, the business men. And especially today, he has shaken a lot of lawyer hands already, much to his dismay.
All the hands today have been soft, with too much product to keep them like that. Except for these, who lack the grooming and appearances that is part of this world. They instead speak of work, actual hard work that requires more effort than what your average Harvard gradate does. These hands, combined with the wink from Donna, make him look twice at the kid, who just entered his interview room.
The second thing Harvey notices, is Mike’s walk.
This takes him a few times. There isn’t anything extremely particular about it, just a good confident walk, like so many have in the business world. Yet it is odd on Mike, who he met during a drug run and has seemingly never owned a suit in his life past prom.
Because when Mike walks, he walks with confidence. It is almost like he walks to a drum beat only he can hear, with his shoulders upright and his face forwards. He is still clumsy from time to time, but Harvey has also noticed how he plays it up when that paralegal girl, Rachel he thinks her name is, is around. And he mostly seems to have butterfingers. Because his posture is immaculate.
Harvey is grateful for it when he does notice. He has been worried about being found out ever since he hired the kid. Mike still has a lot to learn about being a lawyer and all the things that come with going to law school. But a good posture takes a while to ingrain and he appreciates that it is one less worry on his list.
Another thing Harvey has never truly noticed, but in hindsight is something his subconscious noted, is how Mike sits facing the door.
They rarely sit together, but Harvey notices that Mike doesn’t sit down unless there is a seat facing the door. He would rather pace the area, picking up items that don’t belong to him, flip through vinyls or lean against desks.
In the conference room, he prefers it if they sit facing the firm, telling Harvey it is because the skyline behind them is intimidating and that way they can see Jessica coming if they’re doing something she said they shouldn’t.
It says a lot about Harvey as a person that the second reason is the most convincing.
Even in his cubicle, which is located alongside a passageway, he ensures he never has a blind spot. At first, Harvey thinks it is just childishness that has Mike spinning in his chair like it’s a theme park ride. However, after a bit of reflection, he realizes that it is to follow people as they pass. To spin towards the elevators as they arrive, bringing strangers, and ensuring that no movement slips past him.
And then there are the things Harvey chalked up to being from a poorer background. Again, he found the kid on a drug run, it isn’t a weird assumption that he would have a few leftover habits from that time.
For example, Mike will eat anything. Sure, he may look at some things with suspicion, but if he gets it and it is presented as food, he will eat it. And Mike eats fast.
Harvey has watched in amazement as a burger disappeares in seconds, as he tries not to think of whatever made him eat like it was the first time in days and someone might take it away if he doesn’t hurry.
Besides that, he has also discovered that Mike carries a knife with him at all times. He discovers that when a package arrives while they’re late in the office. It’s the files they subpoenaed and the other side is trying to make it difficult for them to access them.
He himself has a letter opener, something Mike had laughed at when he first saw it, but now is useful, or so he thinks. However, the opposition has really taped the box shut and the delicate knife is struggling with getting through.
After watching him for a few moments, Mike rolls his eyes and pushes him aside. From his pocket, he produces a sturdy pocket knife and deftly cuts through the tape, removing a few staples in the process as well. Once done he cheekily grins: “There you go.”
“Why the hell do you have that?” Harvey asks, not even bothering to be grateful they can access the evidence now.
“Because it is useful,” Mike informs him, looking a bit confused.
“If the police even suspects that you’re carrying that for unlawful purposes, they can arrest you, you know that, right?” Harvey says.
“Relax,” Mike assures him. “It’s under four inches, thus allowed and on top of that, I have been carrying this since I met you and you’ve never noticed. And opening boxes isn’t really unlawful, now is it?” Then he shrugs, “Besides, it could have been worse, I used to carry a switchblade.”
“You what?” Harvey exclaims.
“I said used to, I don’t do it anymore. I’m not stupid,” Mike tells him and in that second Harvey doesn’t even think to remember that active US Army personnel is allowed to carry a switchblade in the state of New York.
“Just don’t be an idiot,” Harvey says, for lack of something better to say.
“Never,” Mike grins, before grabbing a stack of papers out the box. “Now, lets find what these sons of bitches are hiding.”
At the end of the night, Mike has found the discrepancy. After handing it to Harvey he rubs his back and shoulder, grimaces for a moment, before collapsing against the desk and immediately falling asleep, so that he can catch as many hours as possible. Which is coincidentally another thing Harvey has noted, but never thought much about.
Mike can sleep anywhere at anytime.
It’s a skill many associates have to learn through trial and error as they struggle with the workload they never thought could be bigger than college exams. Harvey remembers being them. Remembers walking through the hallways, desperately wanting to sleep, but an uncomfortable chair and hard desk preventing him.
He still sees them walking around like he used to do and wondered how Mike would fare. It has been a while since the kid was in college after all.
However, he needn’t have worried, because Mike sleeps instantly and wakes up just as easily, ready and alert. Though, he always stretches and groans afterwards, scowling more than on other days, something Harvey can understand, shuddering as he thinks back on the many nights he used his desk as pillow.
Donna has made up all sorts of stories about why that is, the next one sadder than the last, but Harvey always just rolls his eyes. There might be truth to it, but with what Mike lets slip, he has never truly been on the streets. Privately, he thinks it’s because he needed to keep an eye on his grandmother and this was the way to cope with that.
But even without all that, it isn’t particularly odd that Mike sleeps well even on the floor of the file room, or slumped against a desk. Associates work hard. They work until they’re exhausted and then a few hours more. Harvey would be more concerned if he never saw Mike sleep. And as long as he is functional, Harvey doesn’t care much about Mike’s sleeping habits.
So, yeah, all the signs were there. Harvey knows that in hindsight. But they were all scattered throughout their interactions and Harvey isn’t knowledgeable enough about ex-Army personnel habits to put the pieces together.
Therefore, Harvey finds out that Mike used to be a soldier by complete accident and to his complete surprise on an innocuous Tuesday.
General Curtis, an older gentleman, who has been collaborating with private security for a few years now as liaison. He is still active in the Army, but when he is in Harvey’s office, the man knows he’s not there on the military’s behalf, but on the company’s that Pearson Hardman represents.
Not that it matters much to Harvey on whose behalf he is there, as long as the client pays. Besides, he likes General Curtis. He knows what he wants, is friendly enough and lets Harvey do his job with minimal interference. Mostly content if he can return with a good deal.
So, he warmly welcomes General Curtis and is discussing what needs to be done for an upcoming deal to run smoothly when Mike enters, looking a bit disheveled as always and carrying a file. “I have the McCuffins file,” he says, not yet spotting General Curtis.
When he does spot the General in full military uniform, his eyes grow wide. For a second, Harvey thinks it’s the uniform that makes Mike try to be respectful as he salutes the man.
Even as he greets him with: “General Curtis, sir,” Harvey faintly thinks he must have seen the man in Harvey’s files before.
It’s not until General Curtis salutes back and Mike falls into a parade position as General Curtis returns, “Corporal Ross? You work here, son?” That Harvey begins to realize what is happening right in front of his eyes.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Mike responds as Harvey watches with surprised fascination. Behind his eyes all the aforementioned puzzle pieces start to click together as the words ‘Corporal Ross’ ring around his head on a loop.
“It’s good to see you on your feet again, Corporal,” General Curtis smiles as if seeing an old friend when saying that.
“Sir, thank you, sir,” Mike nods in response, tensing slightly.
On his face in an expression Harvey doesn’t know. He knows the cheeky grin Mike wears, the serious expression as he argues, the smug face when they win, the disbelieving one when Harvey does something he could never.
However, now his face is blank. It’s an odd expression. Like he is a doll, a toy soldier with only this expression carved on. Not at all the expressive Mike he knows. It is a weird thing to witness. It feels wrong.
Meanwhile, General Curtis slaps Mike left shoulder hard enough to make him wince. Then he grins: “None of that formal military stuff. Neither of us are here for the Military. Harvey here is helping the company I’m a liaison for in a deal. You two work together?”
“Sir- Yes. I’m his associate,” Mike informs him. “I do the paperwork. Still climbing my way up here, sir.”
“Well,” General Curtis laughs, “knowing you, you’ll be there in no time.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mike replies, not sounding like he means it and Harvey wonders why he is underselling himself to General Curtis and why he looks uncomfortable. Mad, even.
And it’s not just the stiff politeness that is so unusual on the kid, it’s the way his back is ramrod straight, the way he is trying to end the conversation, the way he is showing any emotions. The whole interaction is creeping Harvey out.
“While I appreciate this reunion, Mike has a lot of work to get back to and we have a lot to discuss,” he cuts in before General Curtis can react.
“Of course,” General Curtis says jovially. “I hope to run into you again, son.”
“Sir,” Mike salutes again, dropping off the files and briskly walking away in that manner Harvey has always known and can now suddenly place.
It hasn’t hit him before, but it is now. Mike used to be Military. Mike is a veteran. Mike knows General Curtis. Mike was a Corporal.
The whole thing is swirling through his head as he quickly gets through his meeting with General Curtis. He is slightly off kilter the entire time, but enough of a professional that General Curtis doesn’t notice. And before he knows it, he is saying goodbye and falling into his chair.
It’s hard to connect skinny, fishbone, ex-drug addict, difficulty with authority Mike with the image of a soldier. Yet here Harvey is, attempting to reconcile the two.
He wonders what happened to the kid.
He sits in his office staring for long enough that Donna comes in. She looks a bit uncertain, something she rarely does, before she takes a breath and sits down as she says: “That was certainly something.”
“Did Mike look off to you?” Harvey asks, not really reacting to the statement that was more meant as an icebreaker than something that needed a reply.
���Stiff as a board and the most un-Mike I have ever seen him?” Donna ask rhetorically. “Yeah, he did. If you don’t go to talk to him, I’m calling down there to say you asked for him. Don’t stop trusting your gut now.”
“Yeah,” Harvey nods absentmindedly, before blinking the world back into focus and nodding: “Yeah, I’m going.”
He gets up and walks down to the cube farm. Another thing he subconsciously noticed now pops out to him again as he watches Mike twirl to face the door right as he walks through it. The only one there, who notices his arrival.
Their eyes meet and Mike’s immediately flit back to the pages in front of him, ignoring Harvey’s presence, despite the fact that he would usually jump up in hopes he could get to leave and do something more fun than research or paperwork with Harvey.
Slightly on guard, Harvey makes his way over to Mike’s cubicle. He leans on the edge of Mike’s desk as he always does, attempting casual. “So,” he starts, “you never told me that before.”
“And I don’t see how it is relevant for you to know,” Mike shoots back, not looking up. “Now, Louis is already giving me shit for the paperwork I put off to get you that McCuffins file, so if you have nothing to discuss except for my previous employment, then I’m going to ask you to leave. I am busy.”
For a second, Harvey looks at Mike flabbergasted. He isn’t used to rejection in general, but even more so from Mike, who has rarely rejected him this bluntly. “Mike,” he starts.
“No,” Mike cuts him off, finally looking up. “I’m serious, Harvey. I don’t want to talk about it and you have no leg to stand on in asking me. So, for both our sake, leave it alone.”
“I just wanted to-”
Again Harvey doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Mike interrupts again: “If you’re doing that thanking for your service crap, shut up. And don’t mention this to anyone, I mean it.”
“I won’t,” Harvey promises.
“Thanks.”
“But, I wanted to say, if you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Harvey says, ignoring the surprised and confused look Mike is giving him. Anything is better than the emotionless guy he saw in his office, besides he likes keeping the kid on his toes. “Or, you know, I can do something.”
“Oh, uh, I- I might,” Mike says awkwardly.
They share a nod, before Harvey walks away. He gets a few steps before he stops and turns around, asking: “Not even Donna?”
Mike rolls his eyes and says: “Like I didn’t already assume Donna would find out. It’s impossible for her not to know when you’re concerned. I half-assumed she wired you and was listening in at this point.”
Harvey snorts, then truly leaves. It’s good to see that Mike is still his Mike, he is just touchy about this topic. Though Harvey doesn’t know why.
When he relays the conversation to Donna, she shares his confused concern. However when she suggests digging with her Military contacts, he shuts her down. It is against his nature to do so and he explains: “You didn’t see him, Donna. I have never seen him like that. He really doesn’t want us digging and he is right that we wouldn't have known if it weren’t for this. Unless it starts to interfere with work, we’ll keep out of it.”
Grudgingly Donna agrees muttering: “I hate having to say you’re right to encourage your emotional development.” Something he pretends not to hear.
And for a few weeks that was that.
The first time he returns to Harvey’s office, he eyes the both of them suspiciously with unfamiliar calculating eyes. When there seems to be nothing to require a reaction, he carries on like it’s any other day without a word.
Harvey tries to forget it and that mostly works. His eyes are opened, however, and from time to time he’ll spot the habits he noticed before and will be reminded of the fact that Mike used fight in the Army. Used to be part of something that has rendered him unable or unwilling to speak about what he did back then.
It is hard to fight his curiosity, something he has never before had to do. When General Curtis comes by again to work out the last details and to sign, Mike is coincidentally busy.
As Harvey covers for his associate he wants to ask about the kid’s service time so badly, but doesn’t.
He has just about accepted that he will never learn more about Mike’s Military time.
Maybe if he becomes even closer with the kid, he thinks for a moment, but they’re about as close as they can get with Mike calling him whenever he pleases, if he has found what they need and Harvey dropping by unannounced, if he needs something from Mike. The late nights at the office, the movie references, the secrets that bind them.
So, yeah, unlikely, or so he thinks.
That assumption is challenged, because his phone starts ringing at an hour that is inhuman and causes him to want to murder whoever is other side. “Harvey Specter, this better be important,” he grouches into the phone. He’s not even ready for his 7 AM run yet.
“Hi, Harvey,” Mike sounds sheepish, but something else is tinting his voice, which sets Harvey on edge.
“Mike?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I wanna preface this by saying that I can usually handle this and I know that I am technicality fine,” Mike starts, doing nothing to calm Harvey’s nerves. “But I don’t think I’m making it to work today and I need you to fight Louis for me, because I have a ton of work that I have to give him today, but it’s lying here on my coffee table, so I won’t be able to do that.”
Harvey is now fully awake and his head is filled with question marks. His primary worry is the fact that Mike can’t make it to work and decides to focus on that for the moment as he says: “Are you okay? What do you mean can’t make it to work?”
He hears Mike sigh and mutter something about knowing it wouldn't be this easy. Then he speaks to Harvey again: “To be frank, I’m lying in my bed and I’m pretty sure that if I were to move I would start crying.”
That is one of the most worrying things he has heard, so – arguably, correctly concerned – he asks: “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“I mean, you could say that,” Mike says and now that he knows what it is, he can place the pain that laces his voice.
“What?” Harvey will later argue that his voice was not shrill, thank you very much.
“Oh, yeah, okay, that can sound wrong, wait,” Mike tells him. “I’m fine now, just old pains. They don’t tell you that when you sign up for the Army, but some of that shit hurts and never leaves.”
It’s only when Mike says Army that Harvey realizes what is going on. Old pains are haunting Mike, apparently to the point where he can’t get out of bed and the fucking idiot is more worried about Louis’ work instead of his own well being.
“I’ll be there in 30,” he says.
“Huh? No!” Mike replies. “Why? I’m fine. I told you I’m fine. I just need today. Come on, man.”
“Yeah, you told me a lot of thing,” Harvey says, wanting to get angry, but managing to think today through, before switching to a tactic that has worked for him in the past. Lying. “But Jessica is on my ass for that thing with Louis last week and if Louis even sniffs something is off, he is running to her to convince her to punish me. So, here’s what is going to happen, I’m not fighting him for you today, instead I’m getting the work from you and you can deal.”
Mike is quiet for a moment, then grudgingly agrees: “Sure. Whatever.”
“Alright,” Harvey nods. “I have the keys, be there in 30.” Then hangs up.
He gets dressed in the first clothes he pulls out of his closet. Him being him, that means he is wearing a full suit, though he isn’t bothering with all the buttons or the tie, so he looks a lot more rumpled than usual.
Ray isn’t on duty yet, since it is so early, so he hails a cab and pays extra for the driver to break a few laws. Exactly 30 minutes later he is rolling up to Mike’s shitty apartment building, where the elevator has never been in working order and he takes the steps two at a time.
Harvey is pretty sure he has never looked more like a mess when he lets himself into Mike’s apartment, sweaty and breathing heavy.
The apartment is the biggest question mark to Harvey, who always thought that Military personnel were neat and organized. Meanwhile Mike’s apartment can best be compared to a hurricane and the kid in question is never without a button missing or his hair disheveled.
But he barely gives it a thought now, quickly making his way to the bed in the back of the room to ensure with his own eyes that Mike is alright. Well, as alright as he can be.
Mike is half asleep when he gets there. One eye is watching him, but his gaze isn’t as alert as it usually is and his hair looks even more messier than normal. He is wrapped up in multiple blankets, his phone on the pillow next to him. Tiredly, he croaks: “Heyyy,” failing at casual.
“Hi,” Harvey humors him anyway. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Mike rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. Then causally comments one of the most horrifying things ever. “You get multiple shots in the back once and your body never lets you forget it.”
“What?” Harvey isn’t ashamed to admit he choked on those words.
At that point Mike seems to realize what he has admitted and cringes sheepishly, as he softly tries: “It’s not that bad?”
“Mike…” Harvey starts.
“The paperwork!” Mike cuts him off with forced cheer, trying to sit up to hand it over, only to groan in agony before collapsing back onto the bed with a choked: “Fuck.”
“Mike,” Harvey repeats, this time with concern as he hover around the bed, unsure of what he can do to help.
“I’m fine,” Mike exclaims in an obvious lie. “Just moved wrong.”
“Mike…” Harvey is starting to feel like a broken record.
“Don’t worry,” Mike fails to assure him. “It’s usually not like this, I promise. Just the rain and cold that hate me.”
“Just stay down,” Harvey orders.
And Mike groans: “Don’t have to tell me twice,” as he burrows back into the comforter.
“Thank fuck,” Harvey mutters to himself, uncomfortable with seeing Mike in pain and being unable to do anything. He looks around, slowly realizing he has no clue where to start. So, he just asks Mike: “Alright, what do you need?”
“A glass of water?” Mike replies, almost unsure if Harvey will actually help. Like he isn’t used to that.
Harvey tries not to think about it.
He gets the water, wrinkling his nose at the dirty dishes, before he remembers his own associate apartment with a shudder. Returning he wants to hand Mike the water, but the kid can’t drink lying down. “We’re going to need to get you into at least a semi-seated position.”
Again Mike groans, before his eyes widen a bit and he assures Harvey: “I promise I’m usually not this whiny. I swear.”
It makes Harvey wonder who told Mike he was being whiny about being shot in the back and the feeling of wanting to strangle someone comes to mind. “Mike, you got shot in the back, I would be milking this for pity and service, calm down.”
“Sorry,” Mike says sheepishly.
“Now, come on. Think that if I pull you’ll live through the momentary agony?” Harvey asks and after Mike’s nod, he pulls him up into a sitting position, rearranging his pillows so Mike can flop back slightly more upright.
“Thanks, dude,” Mike says. “Having to lie all day, or for however long this lasts, would have sucked.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Harvey replies, unable to react to the genuine thanks about just basic and minor help.
“Whatever dude,” Mike snipes cheekily, though Harvey gets the uncomfortable feeling Mike knows that he cares.
Harvey just levels him a look that does nothing anymore as he gives him the glass and orders him to drink. With the request for water, he realizes Mike is probably not in the state to get food for himself either. So, he leaves the kid on his bed and starts rummaging around in his kitchen.
Mike follows his movements with a confused look as he sips his drink. After a moment, he says: “I know my house is a mess, but the paperwork for Louis isn’t in my cupboard. It’s on the coffee table.” He looks to the coffee table in question, which looks like a bureaucratic war zone. “Well, somewhere on there.”
For a moment Harvey tries to comprehend that his associate is truly that stupid. Then he just sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose and turns back to what he was doing.
“What?” Mike asks confusedly after a moment.
Again, Harvey levels him a look, but this time he explains: “I’m getting you food, idiot. You’re not and that’s understandable, but if you starve I have to do your paperwork. Or find a new associate, which I already hated the first time around.”
“Oh,” Mike says, sounding touched, but also unsure of what to with that emotion. He follows Harvey’s movement a little longer, then asks: “But what about Louis?”
“I can still take it, but first food,” Harvey replies. “I haven’t eaten either yet.”
“Ah, I see,” Mike says, getting back to safer ground for both of them. “All of this is just a trick to steal my food. I see you.”
“No, my evil plans to steal your stale bread and two eggs, down the drain,” Harvey deadpans, unearthing oil and salt to cook the eggs with.
Mike snorts and turns back to his water, picking up his phone with slow movements and checking his messages. Harvey keeps an eye on him as he cooks the eggs. He looks comfortable, but the twinges here and there give away that he is in pain. It makes Harvey wonder how many times he didn’t say anything. How many times Harvey didn’t notice. How many times he was alone in bed, unable to make food or grab a glass of water and just suffering.
He quickly texts Ray that there is no need to pick him up today, but that he might need him later, before plating the eggs as he contemplates whether to text Donna.
On one hand, she would want to know and cares enough about Mike to be concerned about this. On the other hand, it isn’t his place and he is pretty sure Mike doesn’t want her to know. In the end, he decides to save making the decision for later and hands Mike his plate. Sitting down on the foot of the bed with his own, since the couch has been overtaken by laundry.
They eat in silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
As they eat, Harvey tries to make a plan of action for the rest of the day. He needs to find out to what extend this is affecting Mike and how to take that into account, maybe clean a bit because Harvey doesn’t think he could live like this. Then he also needs make sure Mike is comfortable today and won’t get any shit at work without telling people about this, whose business it absolutely isn’t.
“So,” he starts after another moment. “Does this happen often?”
Mike gives him a calculating look, before he swallows his bite and shrugs, wincing at the movement: “Depends. It hurts often, kind of comes with the territory, but to this extend is rare. I can usually function just fine.”
“Would you have ever told me without the paperwork for Louis hanging over you?” Harvey asks then, biting the bullets one by one.
At the question, Mike doesn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know. Probably not. It’s not really something I like to bother people with.”
“Bother?” Harvey repeats, unable to stop himself.
“Harvey,” Mike says in a ‘lets be serious here’-tone. “You had to haul me up and make me food, it is a chore to know this, because people feel guilty. Especially since it’s old Army pain. They feel this need to help. Hell, even you, a known uncaring bastard felt the need to do it. I don’t want to push that on people. Besides, it’s not even that bad most of the time.”
It’s the first time he has heard Mike speak about the Army freely and it breaks his heart. Feeling the need to set the record straight, he says: “Mike, stop. Yeah, it’s a little work, but it’s not like you have any control over this. I don’t feel guilty or whatever other emotion you’ll try to pin on me. Believe it or not, I consider you a friend and I don’t mind lending a hand, if you need it. And right now, you just happen to need it.”
If he were to go off Mike’s look, he would think he has grown an extra head. It is as if he has never heard anything like that before.
“Goddammit,” he sighs. “Mike, just accept that this is a thing that is happening. I don’t mind and it is all fine, alright.”
“You- You don’t mind?” Mike asks, like he still isn’t sure.
“I don’t,” Harvey repeats, forcefully. “I have never done anything I don’t want to and I’m not starting now.”
That luckily seems to be something Mike can believe.
“But, just so you know, you can just walk away,” Mike feels the urge to emphasize anyway.
“Okay, I’ll remember that,” Harvey says, not feeling like fighting Mike more on this, since it is apparently not going anywhere anytime soon. There are more important things to focus on. “Now, when this happens, what do you usually do?”
“Just lie in bed,” Mike answers. “If I feel like it I’ll get some water and easy snacks to pile around me. And a hot water bottle. Then I might read or sleep more. But that’s just if it gets like this, most of the time I’m fine and I just try to go on about my day best I can.”
Harvey restrains himself from getting angry at the injustice of it all and the fact that Mike is trying to undersell this, instead choosing to get up. “Where is the hot water bottle?”
Despite all he has said to him, Mike still looks surprised as he tells Harvey. Something Harvey also tries to ignore.
He makes the hot water bottle and checks the time. It’s 8 AM. Technically work starts at 9 AM, something Harvey tends to ignore in favor of showing up whenever he wants, while Mike is usually there at this time (or so he has been told, he’s never really there to check).
However, Louis gets to the office strictly at 9 AM and he is not showing up early just to hand Louis of all people his paperwork. He’ll hand it to him sometime in the morning, he resolves.
With that decision made, he goes to hand Mike the hot water bottle. Mike takes it and puts it over his left shoulder, groaning as he twists to get there. He is still wrapped in his blanket and has an oversized shirt on to sleep in. With the hot water bottle in place he settles back into his pillow kingdom, the grimace slowly fading from his face.
Again Harvey wants to ask what exactly happened, because all he has now are bullets and rain and cold. But he knows better.
So instead he walks around the messy apartment and finds a stack of books, the top one bookmarked indicating this is the stack Mike is working through.
He had once commented on Mike’s messy desk and he explained that he worked with stacks, bookmarking the top thing of the ‘to be read’-stack as he worked his way down and having the done-stack face down, because he basically flipped the through the stack like a book. If you just happened to work on five cases, things got out of hand easily.
Harvey sets them down on the nightstand, then notes how far Mike will have to stretch to grab them, the probable reason he keeps his phone in his bed, just in case something like today happens. So, he takes the top three books and deposits them on the bed instead.
Mike sends him a grateful little look, then takes the top book and starts reading, though to Harvey it will always look like he’s barely scanning it. Mike’s brain always amazes him.
He takes a moment to look at Mike, a kid who has become like a brother to him, someone to protect and guide, and it hits him how small the chances were of them ever meeting, of him even considering hiring Mike. How he almost never ended up in this place with the brilliant, kind and genuine kid.
After the moment has passed, he takes the dirty breakfast plates and brings them to the kitchen. In the background Mike calls out: “Just leave them near the sink. I’ll do the dishes later.”
Harvey takes a look at the sink and concludes that Mike must have been saying that to himself for quite a while, because it is piled high. It’s gross and honestly, Harvey would rather just do the dishes than have to look at them all day. So, he starts to run the tab.
From his place on the bed, Mike hears and yells: “I’m serious, Harvey. Just leave the dishes, I can do them just fine.”
“Mike, these dishes are gross and I have literally nothing better to do,” Harvey calls back. “I never have to do my dishes, because I have a goddamn dishwasher. It’s not the biggest punishment.”
“But it is a punishment,” Mike argues. “So, just leave them. It’s fine, I swear.”
“Just read your damn books, Mike,” Harvey says, proceeding to ignore any other protest Mike makes after that.
When he is done, he leans against the door and asks: “I thought Military personnel is thought to be neat,” not really expecting an answer.
“It is almost like I had five years to redevelop all the bad I habits I already had,” Mike tells him with an amused brow raise. “I’m a messy person by nature. The Army took that from me, I just took it back.”
Harvey is surprised to have gotten such a straightforward answer to his Army question. The end phrasing strikes him as odd, but Mike has turned back to his book already, obviously done with the conversation.
By now it’s a quarter past nine. He’s been at Mike’s for about two hours and done as much as he could to get Mike comfortable. It might be time to deliver on the reason he is ever there in the first place and go bring Louis his goddamn paperwork. Mike should be fine for the time that takes.
So, he starts sorting through the paperwork filled coffee table, trying to recall Mike’s complaining about the case Louis was demanding his help on.
In the end he finds three thick yet completed briefs, which came in yesterday according the date, but have all been clearly proofed in Mike’s handwriting. He holds them up to Mike and asks: “These the paperwork Louis needs?” while texting Ray.
“Yeah,” Mike says. “You going?”
“You look comfortable enough,” Harvey shrugs in explanation.
“Thanks for all this, by the way,” Mike smiles. “I really appreciate it. I’ll likely be able to come in tomorrow, so don’t worry.”
“Wait,” Harvey says, hearing the goodbye, “you do realize I’m coming back after, right?”
“What? Why?” Mike frowns in a confused manner.
For a moment all Harvey can do is look disbelieving at him. He forcefully reminds himself that Mike seems to have no clue what the words ‘taking care of’ mean. Not that he has said them out loud, because he is still Harvey Specter.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, before saying: “Mike, I said, I’m going to lend a hand, if you need it and unless you can make me believe you couldn't use one for the rest of the day, I’m coming back here and you can’t stop me.”
“This is weird, like you’re threatening me with help,” Mike says, for lack of better response, since anything else is pushing the boundaries of emotional displays that have grown between them.
“Alright, I’ll see you in an hour and half or so,” Harvey nods satisfied. “I’m also picking up stuff for me to work on, so Donna is probably going to ask…” the unasked question of how much he can tell her silently tacked on.
“You can just tell her, but I would appreciate if you didn’t mention the shooting thing, or the fact that I’m too much of a dramatic little bitch to get out of bed,” Mike says. “But I think her knowing will help in fighting Louis when I come back to work,” he grins at that and he is right that having Donna’s protection is the best methods against Louis.
Still, Harvey can’t let the wording pass without comment. So, he says: “I won’t, but I don’t really think you’re being a ‘dramatic little bitch.’ Anything else?”
Mike raises a brow, but doesn’t respond to the comment, instead tentatively saying: “I have some briefs you asked for on my desk? I can work on those from here.”
Harvey gives him an assessing look, asking: “You’ll be okay doing that?”
“I’ll be fine,” Mike tells him in a tone that screams ‘stop mother-hening me,’ which is foreign in being directed at Harvey. “I can read just fine, briefs is reading.”
“You’ll also be writing,” Harvey points out, ever the lawyer.
“And I’ll be writing,” Mike concedes. “But my bad shoulder is on the left and I’m right-handed, so – like I said – I’ll be fine.”
After one last look, Harvey believes him and leaves the apartment, sliding into the car that is waiting for him downstairs. Ray asks if everything is alright and Harvey assures him that Mike is okay, just not feeling very well, without giving away any details.
During the drive he finally does the last of his buttons and ties his tie. He is going to look like always and ignore how he is bringing Louis his paperwork, like he’s some sort of delivery boy. He has left his mail room days behind him, please and thank you.
30 minutes later and he is strolling into the cube farm like he owns it. The associates there stare for a second, before pretending to be working really hard. He spots a few glancing at Mike’s empty desk with sick glee in their eyes. They probably think he is here for Mike and that the kid is about to be punished for not showing up.
Harvey finds joy in casually strolling up to Mike’s desk like he expected this (which he did) and taking a stack of briefs bookmarked and right side up. He puts them in his briefcase, taking out the work for Louis, because if he knows the man, he’ll be there any moment.
Louis doesn’t disappoint and indeed comes walking in, already demanding to know where Mike is and what Harvey is doing there, because unlike other people, Louis works hard and needs the briefs that were supposed to be done today.
Casually Harvey waits until Louis is done with his tirade, before smirking and holding out the requested files. “I’m not here to mess up your little schedule, Louis. Not enough fun, honestly. Here, your briefs.”
“Huh?” Louis takes them, his face filled with confusion. “Why do you have these?”
“To give to you,” Harvey answers, like this is a normal thing and Louis is weird for how he is reacting.
“I can see that, Harvey,” Louis snaps. “Why are you delivering Mike’s paperwork?”
“Because I have commandeered him for today, since he is my associate after all,” Harvey pulls something out of his ass. “I’m pretty sure he’s running around like a headless chicken collecting all I need right now, but because Mike care about whatever the fuck you do for some godforsaken reason, he asked me to make sure you got this.”
“And you just did it?” Louis asks, rightfully suspicious.
“I am a man of many mysteries and layers, Louis,” Harvey tells him condescendingly. “You wouldn't get it and that’s okay. Now, I have actual work to do.” And with that he turns around and walks away.
As he does, Louis yells after him: “Don’t think I won’t find out what you’re planning, Harvey! And I am the most mysterious man there is. You don’t even know the depths I have. I’m like the Grand Canyon.”
Then the elevator doors close behind him and he’s off to the fiftieth floor.
Donna is sitting at her desk when he arrives, diligently typing away. Something that ceases the moment he gets there as she asks him: “Where is Mike? He didn’t bring me my morning coffee like he usually does,” as if she is an interrogator.
“Home,” Harvey answers, knowing there will be follow up questions.
“Home?” Donna repeats. “Why? Is he alright?”
“He is technically fine, but old Army injuries are acting up, so he can’t really come in today,” he explains. “I’m picking up some paperwork for us to do, so I can keep an eye on him and ensure that he doesn’t do anything idiotic.”
“Old Army injuries?” Donna asks.
“He asked me not to say,” he tells her apologetically.
“I should go, I can help,” she says, already reaching for her stuff.
“Don’t,” Harvey stops her and she sends him a look. “He already hates that I’m there and thinks I’m being dramatic. He’s barely talking to me. It’s pretty worrying, not going to lie. At this point he is more likely to yell at you if you show up. Besides, I need you here to keep Jessica and Louis off our backs.”
Donna clearly doesn’t like that reply, but gives in. She never passes a chance to bully Louis. So, she sighs: “Alright. What is the story.”
“You’re the best,” Harvey grins.
“I know.”
“Anyway, I told Jessica nothing and she might not even notice that neither me or Mike have shown up today. However, I gave Louis some of the briefs Mike has done for him and he asked why the hell I was doing that,” Harvey explains. “So, I said that Mike was running errands around the city for me and I am just that nice.”
“Tsk, like he’ll believe that,” Donna snorts.
“Exactly,” Harvey agrees. “So, he might come asking questions or go to Jessica. I need you to mollify him and keep me updated on whatever bullshit you feed him.”
“And if Jessica comes asking?” Donna inquires.
“If you can convince her of the same bullshit as Louis, try that and I’ll deal with the fallout. Otherwise just tell her to call me.”
“Alright.”
“Thank you, Donna.”
“Of course,” she smiles kindly. “Now grab you paperwork and go help your boy.”
He wants to protest the moniker, but is reminded of the scene of this morning when Mike was reading and how content he felt. Suddenly he feels incapable of protesting it, so he just ignores it and goes to collect some of his own paperwork.
Then he bids Donna farewell, promising to tell her if anything happens, before leaving again. He sighs when back in the car, glad to leave the place behind him, despite the fact it feels more like home than his own condo.
Half an hour later, he is again laboring up the steps, wondering why Mike hasn’t tried to fight his landlord over this neglect, especially since the kid apparently does this while carrying his bike each day.
When he finally makes it, he unlocks the door and is immediately greeted by a loud thump and a groan. His heart beats with worry and he hurries to the bedroom, calling Mike’s name.
In the bedroom, Mike is lying curled onto his side, clutching his hip and shoulder as he groans again. Next to him on the floor are the books Harvey left there. He looks fine, beyond the obvious and relief fills Harvey’s bones.
“Holy hell, Mike,” he breathes. “You fucking scared me. What an earth were you even trying to do?”
Mike looks up pitifully and answers: “I just wanted to go to the bathroom. Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have shoved my cane in the back of my closet.”
“Cane?” Harvey exclaims, unable to hide the shock at the revelation.
“Oh, yeah,” Mike replies, waving a hand vaguely. “They gave me one. I should probably use it more, but Trevor always said it made me look like a grandfather and the stares are fucking uncomfortable.”
Harvey tries to process that this is a thing (the urge to strangle Trevor is familiar and back in full force) as he asks: “Do you want me to grab it?”
“Can’t hurt, but if you don’t mind helping me hobble to the bathroom, it’s up to you,” Mike answers, pushing himself into a seated position with his right arm, wincing as he does.
The blankets are now pooled around him and Harvey can see that his is in dressed in nothing but a shirt and trunks. He stretches and Harvey can spot a nasty scar on his left shoulder when the wide sleeve slides down. Mike groans and they can hear bones crack.
With that done, he rubs his eyes, before looking at Harvey, who offers a hand and says: “I don’t know how long it’ll take to find it.”
“Smart,” Mike nods. “I have to go really bad.”
Harvey gets on his right side to avoid agitating the scared shoulder on the left, letting Mike sling an arm around him, before hauling him to his feet. As he does, he notices there is also a scar on Mike’s right hip that snakes out from under his trunks. But he doesn’t comment on it.
As they go, Mike makes small pained noises that make Harvey want to fight someone. He also apologizes a few times to Harvey for being an inconvenience, as well as comment how fucking embarrassing this is.
While Harvey can understand being embarrassed about being helped to the bathroom, he shrugs it off. He also shuts the inconvenience thing down real fast.
Mike pees. He waits outside. Then they make the track back to the bed. Harvey can’t help, but peek at the nasty looking scars, continually picturing Mike bleeding out somewhere. An irrational fear grips him as he thinks of Mike not making it.
Of course, Mike notices it, but neither brings it up just yet. Harvey just hands him the paperwork and tells him about what went down at the office as he digs through the closet for the cane.
“Maybe I should have tried to hold on to a bit of that cleanness,” Mike comments as he watches Harvey dig further and further, the ground around him now filled with all the other crap he had stuffed in there haphazardly.
“Why didn’t you?” Harvey asks, seeing an opening and remembering the odd phrasing from earlier that morning.
He can feel Mike’s eyes burn into his back, but he doesn’t stop looking for the cane, content to wait for a reply and already prepared to never get one.
“Like I said, I’m a messy person,” Mike’s voice comes from behind, surprisingly answering. “In the Army you’re supposed to be a cog in a bigger machine. There is no room to be a person, to be anything but what they need you to be. They forced me to be this clean person, they changed me and when I got back, I tried to find who I was again. And I am just a messy person.”
“You talk about it like the Army did something to you,” Harvey comments idly, mulling over the words.
“And?” Mike sounds defensive.
“Nothing,” Harvey shrugs. “Most soldiers talk about the brotherhood, how they miss it, how it taught them things. Not used to hearing anyone be so bitter about it.”
Mike snorts: “That’s because they really try to push that narrative to find new recruits. Anyone being critical is quickly shut down or doesn’t make it.”
“Doesn’t make it?” Harvey asks, as he triumphantly pulls the cane from the closet, finally facing Mike again as he holds it.
The kid smiles and shakes his head, taking it and placing it next to his bed. The way he handles it looks familiar and Harvey again wonders what happened to him and if he’ll get an answer or if Mike has shared enough for today.
“Yeah, doesn’t make it,” Mike surprises him by answering when he’s done. He looks right at him and says: “I saw you watching.” Harvey looks guilty at that. “It’s alright, I get it. But I’m one of the lucky ones. We were hit by a spray of bullets, three got me. My shoulder, my back and my hip. I got an honorable medical discharge and they shipped me back to the US where I got the care I needed for the lowest cost, before they threw me on the streets and told me to figure it out. That is being lucky, Harvey.”
Harvey is quiet as he listens. He never served, never even thought of it, just blindly listened to whatever he heard from people who didn’t serve either. What Mike is telling him is all news to him and he wonders how he never knew.
“I had just received three heavy blows to places that were already damaged by always carrying a heavy pack around,” Mike continues. “I had no college degree, since I joined after I was kicked out, because there was nowhere else for me to go. What could I do? Nothing. They don’t tell you that you’re done when you leave the Army.”
At this point it’s less an answer to Harvey’s question and more a rant. It sounds like it has been trapped inside Mike for a long time, so Harvey doesn’t interrupt.
“I was constantly in pain and with my record before the Army, no doctor was willing to prescribe me painkillers, so I turned back to drugs. I couldn't work and was too weak to care for Grammy, so I spiraled back into criminal activity again. The Army doesn’t get anyone back on their feet, they just take and spit people out. They destroyed my future more than drugs and cheating did,” Mike says, breathing heavily.
In the back of his mind, Harvey feels guilty about taking Mike’s one pain relief when he started working for Pearson Hardman. However, he also knows that weed was keeping Mike chained down in his shitty situation.
Still, he resolves to ask how Mike manages his pain now.
“Hell, I can’t walk through a metal detector normally anymore,” Mike rant on, “because they just sewed the bullets back in order to get bleeding to stop enough to drag me out of there. Though, not before digging around in them with a knife, making sure the scaring would be horrible, as they decided to fuck it to save time and my life. And, now, if they try to get them out, they might paralyze me for life. Not to mention all the mental bullshit that comes with it.”
“And I have to live with the fact that I’m one of the lucky ones,” he is bordering on hysteria now and Harvey isn’t sure if he should intervene.
His fists are clenched and he is shaking slightly. Tentatively, Harvey sits down next to him, putting a hand on the back of his neck as he softly says: “…Mike.”
“I used to have really bad nightmares when I just came back,” Mike confesses softly. “I remember everything I saw out there in vivid detail. I hoped the weed would dim them, but it never did.” He chuckles bitterly. “I still have them actually, I just don’t wake up screaming anymore, because I have become so desensitized to them. It’s just a part of my life now. Part of me.”
At the soft, broken tone Harvey can’t take it anymore and carefully pulls Mike into a side hug. He pretends not to feel the tears slowly staining his suit.
“Sorry,” Mike sniffles after a while.
“Please stop apologizing for the most reasonable reactions and things you can’t control,” Harvey tells him gently. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, it’s okay to be upset. Hell, to be traumatized.”
“Ah, so-, uhm,” Mike clears his throat. “Thank you. You don’t have to do this, but I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t expect today to be this much. It’s been a while since it was this bad, I guess all sorts of things came to the front.”
“It’s no issue at all,” Harvey says, nearly admitting how glad he is Mike didn’t hide this from him and that he can be here for him.
Mike doesn’t really reply to that, just leans further into Harvey’s side and wipes his eyes. “It’s hard to explain how bad it was. But no one cares about you out there and no one cares when you get back. You see the worst shit and then you just have to report for duty the next day like nothing happened. Like you didn’t try and fail to hold the blood of your friend inside him hours before. Like you don’t want to go curl up into a ball, cry and go home.”
“Is that the reason you don’t like General Curtis?” Harvey asks, remembering the dislike that radiated off Mike, hidden under that impassive mask, while the General seemed friendly.
At that Mike snorts bitterly and pulls back a bit as he explains: “When I knew him, he was Sargent Curtis. Friendly, but sneaky. I’m a Corporal, I was a team leader, but I reported to him. He took pride in me being under him, since I was bright and he could take credit for my successes, without having to take the risks.”
Harvey is just starting to think that sounds a bit like him, when Mike says: “He was kind of like the anti-you. Pretended to care then stabbed you in the back without teaching you a thing.
That earns Mike a raised brow, since not many would describe Harvey as the opposite of that, but Mike ignores that and moves on: “Anyway, we had just come back from one of the shittiest missions to date. We were all exhausted, so I told my men to take the evening, while I went to check up on the wounded. Maybe write a few letters to widows or now childless mothers.”
A part of Harvey doesn’t want to know how this story ends and his heart breaks for Mike, who has lived it.
“The next morning, I stumble back to camp and Sargent Curtis is in my face screaming about why my platoon didn’t show up for evening drills,” Mike continues. “I had just returned from the medical tent. Two of the three wounded didn’t make it through the night. I had held their hands the entire night and promised them that they would be okay. That they would go home soon.”
Mike stares unseeingly at the ground. “I decided then, the whole Military could choke and I would never sign up for another tour. However, a week later that decision was made for me. I will never forget that fucking asshole. I wonder whose coattail he rode to General.”
“Fuck. Mike,” Harvey breathes after a second.
“I’m fine now,” Mike assures him, giving him a crooked smile that is only half believable. Then he clears his throat and blinks. “Wow, I just really dumped that all on you.”
“You looked like you needed it,” Harvey says, adding, “And I’m the guy you tell, remember?”
That gets a laugh out of Mike, which makes Harvey prouder than it has the right to. Mike softly elbows him and rolls his eyes. “Alright, Mr. Lawyer-man. Just hand me my paperwork. I need a distraction right now.”
“Course,” Harvey agrees, having pushed more than enough for today.
The rest of the day passes slowly, but companionably. Harvey puts the stuff back in the closet in a more organized manner and gets lunch at some point. He also organizes Mike’s coffee table and rearranges the mess on the couch, so that he can comfortably work there.
It’s about half past 3 that Harvey’s phone rings. Donna’s face smiles up from the screen and he picks up with a smooth: “Hello, Donna. What’s up?”
“I’m trying to keep your line busy, since Jessica was just here and she is probably on her way to her office to interrogate you,” Donna informs him.
“Louis didn’t believe you?” he asks.
“No, he did, she just happened to hear what I fed Louis and didn’t believe that,” Donna says. “She asked me what was really going on and I told her you weren’t really out on a free day, but finalizing the paperwork for a deal for the company of Louis’ sister and didn’t want him to know.”
“Let me guess, she didn’t think I would be that considerate.”
“Bingo,” Donna agrees. “So I hope you have something to tell her, because I’m sure she’ll be able to find you otherwise. By the way, how is Mike doing?”
Harvey glances at Mike, who sends him a questioning brow. He is still in bed with the hot water bottle now on his hip, surrounded by paperwork, marker behind his ear. “He is good,” he tells Donna. “We’ll come up with something.”
“Alright, bye,” Donna says. “I’m off to call Jessica and stall her to give you time.” Then she hangs up with a click.
“What did Donna need?” he asks.
“Jessica can call any moment, because she didn’t believe our excuses for not being in today,” Harvey answers, getting up and walking back over to Mike. “What are we telling her?”
“We can say I’m just sick?” Mike offers.
“Wouldn’t work, she knows I hate being sick and avoid sick people like my life depends on it. If you were contagious, I wouldn’t be here,” Harvey shakes his head, falling down on the bed as he shoots the idea down.
“So now what?” Mike asks.
Harvey has another option, but he doesn’t know how it will be received. Carefully he suggests: “We can also just tell her the truth. We’re lawyers, she knows the anti-discrimination laws, you’re entitled to sick days and aid.”
“And what about you, huh,” Mike challenges, not shooting the idea down, but also not pleased with it at all.
“I’m doing my work and ensuring you can still do yours in these circumstances,” Harvey says. “She also doesn’t really care if I work from home, though working in office is better for our image, handier and better for if we have walk-ins. I still did my part.”
“No,” Mike shakes his head. “I’m not going to tell Jessica I’m not in, because my bones just hurt a little bit. She already doesn’t like me very much, I’m not giving her more reasons to think I’m a whiny little bitch.”
“I asked you to stop with calling yourself a whiny little bitch,” Harvey reminds him. “You have an actual medical condition that is not a moral failing. She’ll understand and then you can discuss accessibility aid.”
Mike scowls: “I don’t need accessibility aid.”
Harvey sighs. “Why not?”
“Everyone there already thinks you’re giving me special treatment and I have been functioning fine until now,” Mike says. “If I randomly show up with a cane or get help, everyone will have questions and I don’t need the extra shit. I get enough already.”
“If that happens you can file a discrimination lawsuit,” Harvey points out. “I’ll represent you, pro-bono.”
“No,” Mike says.
“What are you going to do then?” Harvey asks. He doesn’t want to force Mike, but he also doesn’t get it. “How are you managing now. You said yourself you should use the cane more and weed isn’t really an option to cope anymore. Are you just going to swallow a bunch of Tylenol and keep your fingers crossed?”
“I’ve become immune to Tylenol,” Mike shrugs. “So, I’ll just deal like I’ve always done and I’ll be fine.”
“And if a day like this rolls around again?”
“I’ll call in sick,” Mike says. “I should have done that today, honestly. It was my plan after calling you, but I thought that counted. Next time, I’m calling Donna.”
“Oh, yeah, because Donna will let you get away with being miserable like this,” Harvey points out the flawed logic.
“Dammit, Harvey, why are you pushing me here?” Mike explodes.
“All I’m wondering is if all this can be lessened or even prevented, if you tell Jessica,” Harvey replies. “If you had a good chair, if you could get a moment to stretch, if you could use your cane, would the chances of having a day this bad be lower? I know you don’t want to tell anyone and you don’t have to. You know they’re legally not allowed to ask you. Throw title 1 of the ADA in their faces and try to give less fucks.”
“People don’t really tend to believe it’s this bad,” Mike points out softly.
“Jesus, Mike, you got shot. Multiple times. The bullets are still in you,” Harvey says. “It’s pretty hard to deny. Just tell me, if it would help.”
Mike is quiet for a moment, then he shrugs: “I guess, the strain would be less. It might help, but these things are unpredictable.”
“Alright,” Harvey nods. “Look, all I’m saying here is tell Jessica. You don’t have to do anything more with it, but think about it for a minute.”
It’s quiet, then Harvey’s phone starts ringing again, this time Jessica’s severe eyes stare judgmentally at them and Harvey says: “Make that a second.”
“Wait. What are you going to say?” Mike asks, stressed out.
“We’ll see,” Harvey replies cheerfully, before picking up. “Hello, Jessica. What can I do for you today?”
“Harvey.” How Jessica can say so much with just his name, he’ll never know.
“That is me, yes,” he says anyway, instead of being serious. As he stalls, he makes a few inquiring faces at Mike, who is still thinking, brows pinched.
“You know why I am calling you,” she tells him.
“Probably, but before I confess to something you don’t know yet, remind me?” Harvey answers.
“I have become aware that you and your little minion, Mike, aren’t in the office today,” Jessica informs him. “Now, this would be only mildly worrying, if you didn’t have Donna lying straight to my face. So, what the hell are you doing out there, Harvey?”
“Nothing, I swear,” he says, feeling a bit like a boy called to the principal’s office
“Harvey, this is not a time to play games with me,” Jessica tells him sternly. “I let a lot of the shit you do slide, but there are still rules that need to be followed and I can’t have you drag Mike out of work for your little escapades. People talk, Harvey, you know this. What am I supposed to say if the partners start asking why I’m letting you and your associate have days off without explanation?”
“Yes, Jessica, I know,” Harvey agrees, turning serious. She is not amused in any way and now is not the time to be cocky or cute with her.
“So, I’m asking you again,” she says. “Where the hell are you?”
And for this first time in a long time, Harvey flounders. While he has an opinion on what Mike should do, he’s not just telling Jessica when Mike said no. However, she needs some sort of explanation and if he lies to her now and she finds out, he is done for.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, waving his hand around as if it will give him inspiration.
Mike has been sitting next to him, listening as he attemps to cover for Mike. He has heard everything, but has also taken the time to think about what has been said. So, when Harvey runs aground, he plucks the phone out of his hands and puts on his most chipper voice as he greets: “Hi, Jessica, how are you today?”
It isn’t often that he hears that tone, but surprised, Jessica answers: “Mike? Why are you here?”
“I thought you knew Harvey and I were in the same location,” Mike shoots back.
“Are you toying with me, kid?” And when Jessica says it, it doesn’t sound as fond as when Harvey does. “Why isn’t Harvey answering?”
“Because Harvey was about to lie for me, even though he didn’t want to,” Mike tells her honestly, hoping the switch in tone will throw her off enough to prevent her anger.
“What?”
Ah, success!
“He is in my apartment,” Mike confesses. “I didn’t want him to tell you, because I don’t like talking about it, but he is right in that as my employer you should probably know.”
Jessica sounds like she is preparing for the worst as she asks what the hell they’re doing and Mike suddenly realizes how that might sound. He smartly chooses to ignore it.
“I used to be in the Military,” he says quickly, trying to get it over with as fast as possible. “I did three tours in Afghanistan and was honorably discharged after I got shot in the back. Today the neglect I’ve put my body through caught up and put me out of commission. Harvey came to bring me my paperwork and ensure I was alright.”
The line is quiet. Mike has done the impossible and rendered Jessica speechless for a moment as he processes all he has just said.
“That is- Ahum- Thank you for your service,” she says and Harvey sees Mike wrinkle his nose in disgust at the thanks.
“No problem,” is what he awkwardly replies.
“You said the issues were caused by neglect, has this anything to do with work conditions?” she then goes on in a businesslike manner, immediately trying to barricade herself in legally in case of a later lawsuit about the accessibility of Pearson Hardman.
“I- uh,” Mike fumbles, not yet prepared for this part of the conversation.
Harvey sends him a questioning, concerned look and Mike smiles at him, before turning back to the phone.
“Overall the work conditions have not directly impaired me. At the moment, I’m in a dialogue with Harvey on how to improve my work area. The only thing I would currently note is the atmosphere in the cube farm.” As he talks he chooses his words carefully and Harvey listens in with pride at how far Mike has come lawyer-wise.
“How so?” Jessica asks him and Harvey can picture her sitting there perfectly.
“While I get the hazing culture, it has discouraged me from using my cane,” Mike explains. “It helps lessen the strain. However, I’m sure that right now it would get missing sometime during the day or it will be broken. Not to mention the verbal abuse.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Jessica says. “When you’re able to come in, please head to my office so that we can discuss this further. Bring your discharge papers and doctor’s notes, since we do need to see some proof. And tell Harvey to report what you two agree on surrounding this.”
“Certainly,” Mike promises. “And thank you for your understanding.”
“Of course,” Jessica replies. “We at Pearson Hardman promote a diverse and accepting work environment.”
Mike bites his lip to keep himself from laughing at the obvious sales line and says his goodbyes before hanging up. Then he sags into himself, the anxiety suddenly leaving him.
“Are you okay?” Harvey asks.
“Yeah,” Mike smiles. “That was just really stressful and scary, but she was nicer about it then expected.”
“Jessica is a black woman at the top of a multi-million law firm,” Harvey points out. “She has been diversity points and knows how shitty it is to not be seen as human beyond that. She has been pushing more diversity and less discrimination ever since she became name partner, but not in that corporate way you so often see.”
“Well, it’s appreciated,” Mike says. “Now I just have to figure out how I’m going to face the entire firm and its ridicule.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Harvey assures him and the brow he gets back tells him all he needs to know about what Mike thinks of that. He amends his answer slightly to: “Well, it might, but now you have me, Donna and Jessica backing you. And Louis, because Louis wants to lick Jessica’s boots at every moment.”
Mike considers that for a moment. “Alright, yeah. But it might still happen, before they can get reprimanded, or whatever. And that will suck.”
There isn’t much Harvey can do about it and that does, indeed, sucks. So, he wracks his brain for a moment, then offers: “You can work in my office the first few days, until the word has spread.”
“Thanks, Harvey,” Mike smiles. “But I think I’m passing. Your couch is nice, but working on it is killing for my back. I’ll just have to deal, I suppose. But I am keeping you to that offer, should it be necessary.”
“Alright,” Harvey nods and they shake on it. Then he says: “We should probably have that dialogue about how to improve your work conditions now.”
“Come on, man, that’s not necessary,” Mike tries to play it off. “I just came up with that so that I could hang up on Jessica as fast as possible. It’s fine, I swear.”
“And I thought it was a good idea,” Harvey raises a challenging brow. “In fact, I have already suggested a few things like a better chair and stretch room. If you tell me what would help, then I can say to what extend that can be arranged and then we can leave the subject be.”
“I hate it when you go all lawyer on me, did I ever tell you that?” Mike complains and Harvey just grins victoriously.
“So?”
For a moment, Mike is stubbornly silent, then he gives in. “I mean, a better chair would be nice, I guess. One with better back support and wheels so I don’t have to get up for every little thing. And if I didn’t have to continuously run around to bring people my finished paperwork, but that can’t always be helped, so whatever. Like I said, I’m fine most of the time. Hell, most people don’t even notice.”
Harvey guiltily counts himself among those people as he thinks for a second. “A chair should be no problem. And if you call, me and Donna can collect my paperwork, which is most of your workload. Louis is the other half, so that will depend on him, but maybe we can ask that paralegal-” “Rachel,” “Yes, Rachel, if she can take your work if she has the time.”
“I don’t know about that, Harvey. She already hates that associates and partners treat her like a secretary,” Mike shakes his head. “I would feel bad asking her.”
“She is your friend, right?” Harvey asks and Mike nods. So, Harvey says: “Well, then she might make an exception for you. Otherwise you can ask one of the associates, because Louis and Norma aren’t going to. Though, you never know.”
“Keep it as a backup option should Louis be shit?” Mike suggest.
“Sure,” Harvey agrees. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of,” Mike says.
“Alright. Then I’m calling Donna, so she can get on that and because she has probably been dying to know what’s happening ever since Jessica left her desk.” And Mike snorts at that as Harvey starts to dial Donna.
He was right about her curiosity, because she pounces the moment she picks up. Dutifully Harvey relays everything to her, ending in her promising that Louis will be collecting his own paperwork one way or another.
The rest of the day passes by peacefully. Mike’s body decides to be kinder and Mike can use the cane to get to the bathroom on his own when he needs it again. Harvey does a few groceries, claiming he just wants to cook for a change, but also getting Mike a few basics.
They eat at the small table Mike has and talk about upcoming cases. When it’s time to leave, Mike stays seated and tells Harvey he would normally walk him to the door, but you know…
“Mike, you live in a broom closet, you can be anywhere and still have walked someone to the door,” Harvey informs him when he says that.
“Shut up.” Mike sticks his middle finger up at him, but he is smiling again, so Harvey counts it as a win anyway.
At the door he hesitates again, then asks: “You sure, you’re gonna be alright?”
“I’m not made of porcelain, Harvey,” Mike rolls his eyes. “I had a bad day, that’s it. Tomorrow I’ll probably take a cab to work instead of my bike. That’s the worst of it.”
“Okay, but if you can’t come in tomorrow, call me,” Harvey is mollified, but makes Mike promise anyway.
“I will,” Mike says. “Now shoo. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Alright, alright.” And with that Harvey finally leaves, wondering how his day ended up like this and reflecting how much he didn’t mind. How much he missed being needed for a change.
He gets a lot of people asking for his help, of course, but this protective caring feeling is something he only knows from Markus, who hasn’t asked him for anything except money in years. It’s kinda nice. Makes him realize how much his friendship with Mike means to him and how badly he wants to hold onto it.
Harvey promises himself to have Mike’s back no matter what. Vows to ensure the kid is alright. To deal with whoever gives him even the slightest grain of shit.
So, the next day he gets in early. As if she has read his mind, Donna is there as well. He greets her and asks after developments.
“Louis will have a kid named Harold collect Mike’s paperwork and the chair got delivered yesterday in the late afternoon,” she informs him.
“How did you manage that?” Harvey asks, impressed.
“I have my contacts,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “What about Mike? Hear anything from him yet?”
“No, nothing so far.”
“If he keeps his usually schedule, he should get in at any moment,” Donna says after checking her watch.
“Jessica told him to report to her immediately, but perhaps he’s dropping his bag off at his desk first,” Harvey tells her, watching the hallway intently.
At 8 AM exactly, Mike steps off the elevator. His suit is done up neater than Harvey has seen it before, as if it’s an armor. His satchel is thrown over his right shoulder and he is leaning on his cane. On his face he’s wearing a confident grin that Harvey can see is partially fake. In his other hand he has a coffee carrier with three coffees in it.
He casually makes his way to Donna’s desk and sets down the coffee carrier. He hands her order, before giving Harvey his as he says: “I thought you would be here already.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harvey asks as he takes a sip. Exactly how he likes it.
Mike drinks his own and grins. “Nothing, just that you can never deny you care again and I will be using this knowledge against you.”
“Don’t you have a meeting with Jessica to get to?” Harvey says, not denying what Mike says, but also not acknowledging it. He has an image to maintain after all.
“Wow,” Mike snorts, taking a sip. Then he explains: “I’m drinking my coffee first. I usually do that while I walk, but my hands were full.”
“How are you feeling?” Donna asks and Harvey is gratefully she does. If he had done it, it would have sounded overbearing or like he wanted to coddle Mike after his explicit wish not to, but he is curious about the answer and Donna is close enough to it, yet uninvolved enough, to be able to ask him.
“I’m fine, Donna. Thank you,” he answers with a kind smile. “I had forgotten how much this thing helped until I used it again.”
“It makes you look very refined,” Donna tells him with a smile of her own. “And don’t worry about Louis, he was offering to be your assistant when I was done with him.”
Mike laughs at the mental image. “What would the world do without you, Donna?”
“Crash and burn probably,” Donna replies in that serious yet cheeky way only she can pull off successfully.
“Probably, yeah,” Mike agrees. Then downs the rest of his coffee, before saying: “Well, I’m off to Jessica then. Wish me luck.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Donna assures him.
“Yeah, that,” Harvey agrees.
Mike takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders as he hypes himself up. For a moment, Harvey can see the soldier clearly as he imagines all the muscle bulk Mike must have lost to his injury and drug addiction that was caused by it.
Then Mike walks away, the tapping of the cane announcing his arrival. He looks like a proper lawyer on a mission and Harvey can’t be more proud of the man his kid is becoming.
~~
A/N:
I feel so guilty abt my chronic pain (which, granted, is less bad than Mike’s) and I feel so dramatic, so welcome to the ~projection hours~
Harvey: *shows up and helps Mike even though he didn’t have to and is known not to*
Also Harvey: What if Mike notices I care?
Mike: *is so confused by said care*
Harvey: Nvm, I must tell this idiot I care
While writing this fic, I realizes that you would never know that Louis is one of my fave characters in the show. He just always gets the short end of the stick in my writing for some reason?? (that is in character though, lmao, poor Louis)
And remember kids, hate the US Military, be compassionate for the veterans who are ground up and used by the machine of war. My other PSA is, someone’s medical history is no one’s business except their own :)
(@liar-or-lawyer bc you asked to be tagged)
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caelestisdemon · 2 years
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Symptoms of surviving Law’s Gamma knife to the chest/abdomen may include the following:
Fatigue
Hair loss 
Skin changes
Throat problems, such as trouble swallowing
Cough
Shortness of breath
Diarrhea
Nausea and vomiting
Urinary and bladder problems
And that’s just describing potential symptoms of a regular radiotherapy treatment and not that of a fatal dose of radiation given by an enemy with intent to kill.
For Doflamingo, his organs were practically reduced to goo, with only his strings holding them remotely together. The marines themselves I imagine did not prove very helpful in fixing his many issues. Not only that, before he was finally knocked unconscious where his strings would no longer be able to help him, but enduring an intensive battle against Luffy no doubt greatened his internal injuries further to the point where regardless of what happens, anything short of immortality will be unable to save his life.
Beyond the symptoms listed I imagine these organs had taken the brunt of the damage: The heart, the lungs, and his stomach.
His heart no longer beats an even rhythm, his great lungs now struggle to deliver him ample oxygen, and his stomach now afflicted with Gamma knife-spawned ulcers, infrequently spews blood whenever those rupture.
All in all, Doflamingo would realistically be getting a fate that Law would probably deem worthy. The inevitability of dying alone from wounds no one would ever dare treat even if they could without the OP Op fruit, the very thing Doffy would now rely on to live.
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rashzangoose · 5 months
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Words enclosed in ‘’ are internal dialogue!
‘Right then. Play it cool. You and the little guy were injured in the woods.’ Thought one voice in Jester’s head.
‘Gee thanks I was going to play it abnormally but you saved me!.’ Replied Jester dryly. Honestly, his brain could be such a nuisance.
Jester approached the front desk of the Pokémon center, holding the Rowlet in his arms. The nurse looked concerned, as she probably should be, at the appearance of both the man and the Rowlet in front of him.
“Hey there. Sorry about the dirt I tracked in, I’ve been wandering lost through a forest for a bit.” Jester played it as cool as someone covered in grime could. She had a worried expression.
“Right then, is that your Rowlet?”
‘Of course she would ask about this… what do we do?’
‘What we do is answer normally jackass. Can you pipe down?’
“No. We ran into each other out there, I’ve been helping it out.”
“Ah okay. Do you want to head to the bathroom to freshen up while I give it a look over?” The Nurse was using a customer service voice now. She seemed over the weirdness that was his appearance.
“That would be great, thanks.” He went to put the Rowlet down, but it started freaking out. Jester frowned as it clumsily flew up to his shoulder the instant he placed it on the ground. The nurse laughed a little.
“Oh well. Guess it can wait.” He attempted to look unbothered, and shrugged. Cap poked its head out from his hair to see what the issue was, and the nurse laughed more.
“Right! Follow me then.” Jester sighed and walked behind her. The two of them went into a patient  room, and the nurse left to go get supplies. The Rowlet calmed down a bit once she had left. Jester looked around for something to clean himself off with, but found nothing. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door.
“Coming in!” She walked into the room, an Audino followed behind her. They both held towels, first aid kits, and water. Jester started cleaning himself off as the nurse busied herself with the little owl. The Rowlet struggled a little at first before letting itself be cleaned and cared for.
Jester got himself mostly cleaned, but left a section of cloth tied to his leg untouched. As he went to sit down, the Audino’s feelers brushed against his leg. Its eyes widened, which the nurse noticed.
“Hm? Is something wrong Audrey?” It pointed at his leg.
‘shit.’
‘Shit!’
‘SHIT!’ All three voices yelled in unison.
“Oh! Is your leg injured sir?” She was a lot calmer than her Audino.
“Yeah it’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” He went to sit down, which prompted the Audino to run over and start trying to remove the cloth.
“Hey- OW! Quit it! I’m fine!” Jester squirmed in his seat. The nurse and the Rowlet were both watching closely as the cloth was dropped.
A bloody bullet hole was embedded in Jester’s calf. He tried to keep control of his breathing as everyone else in the room rightfully began to freak out.
“Is- are you okay?! Do you need to go to the hospital?” The nurse approached to examine the wound, which caused Jester to shrink back into his seat.
‘Ouhhhh, we’re in it now! There’s no way we explain this away…’ pouted one voice.
‘Can you SHUT UP!? I can’t THINK over all your WAILING!’ For just a second, a battle of emotion played out on his face. No one but the Audino noticed.
“No-no I don’t need to go to a hospital. I’ve been cleaning it and stuff, really it’s no issue.”
“Sir it’s my job to care for patients. I promise you I won’t bite! Please let me help you.”
Jester practically growled in frustration. But he did let her examine and clean the wound. Everyone was silent for a few minutes.
“… so… how did you get shot?”
“What are you, a cop?”
‘Jester! There’s no reason to be so aggressive!’
“…sorry. Just. On edge is all.” They sat in silence. At least, physically they did. Internally, Jester was yelling in frustration.
‘Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME. How the HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO EXPLAIN WHAT HAPPENED WITHOUT INSTANTLY GETTING THE POLICE CALLED ON ME??’ Jester mentally kicked over a trash can.
‘M-maybe we can confess? Tell her what’s been going on? Maybe she’ll sympathize with us? But why should she? We’re horrible! Horrible person!’ Cried an emotional voice.
‘Or. We could just lie to her.’ Said a quiet voice.
‘Fine. Give me a second to think of something convincing.’ Jester mumbled. The nurse glanced up at him.
“Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything before, but I got shot defending the little Rowlet. I got lost a few days afterwards, been trying to find my way out of that jungle and this was the first building I spotted.” It was… convincing enough to him. The Audino narrowed its eyes, but the nurse bought the story.
“Oh you poor things! Let Audrey clean you up, I’ll call the police.” He stiffened.
“No! I mean, no. Please don’t. I’d rather not get involved at all. I’m fine, didn’t get hit anywhere major. The Rowlet is fine now that they’re here. That’s all I need.”
‘She’s GOING TO CALL THEM!???’
‘SHUT UP!’
The nurse hesitated for a few seconds before sighing.
“Right. Okay. I’ll get you both fixed up then.”
“Thanks doc.”
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