#head lolling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whumpdoyoumean · 2 years

Text

Whumptober #19

part 1

xxx

Napoleon is drowning.

It doesn’t make much sense, considering he’s in his bed in HQ, but having practically drowned less than two days prior he knows the feeling, and he is confident that that’s what’s happening. Each labored breath struggles to claw its way out of his aching lungs, and he can feel his anxiety mounting. He sits up, and being upright eases his breathing somewhat but does nothing to stave off the panic that continues to build. He throws off his blanket and sweat-soaked sheet and gets unsteadily to his feet. If he can just make it to the infirmary, he’s sure a bit of oxygen will put things right…He grabs his robe on the way out of his room, pulling it on over his boxers in a weak attempt at decency.

He makes it a few dozen feet before his legs give up.

xxx

It’s still dark out when Gaby awakens, a few hours earlier than she’d planned. She briefly considers trying to go back to sleep, until she remembers what had woken her up in the first place which was a thump in the hallway. She turns onto her back and groans, laying there for a minute longer before forcing herself to get up. She slides her feet into her slippers and shuffles toward the door to investigate. With any luck it’s just the boys having a bit of a rummach. It wouldn’t be the first time she caught them in the hall at odd hours, and brushes with death always seem to make it harder for them to keep their hands off each other.

She opens the door, a snarky remark already forming, but it quickly evaporates as she sets eyes on Napoleon.

“Solo?”

He's sitting on the floor in his bathrobe with his back against the wall and his legs splayed out in front of him. His face is ghostly white and glistening with sweat, and one hand is clutching at his chest, the other braced against the floor. It’s obvious that he’s struggling to breathe. He looks up at her, eyes wide with fear, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and Gaby feels her blood go cold.

“Illya!” she shouts as she falls to her knees next to the American. She raises her voice. “Illya!”

“Tried…” Napoleon begins. “Tried to…Infirmary.”

“Ssh,” Gaby says, pushing his dampened curls back from his sweaty forehead.

Now that she’s next to him, she can hear a strange gurgling sound with each breath, and her eyes flick to the dark bruises on his chest.

Scheisse.

“Gaby?” Illya’s voice reaches them before he does, and he rounds the corner a second later, a deep frown on his face. “What is--Cowboy!”

“We have to get him to the infirmary!”

Illya nods, wide-eyed, immediately moving to Napoleon’s side. The American frowns.

“Just…need to…catch m’...breath,” he mutters as Illya and Gaby each grab one of his arms and haul him to his feet.

“What is going on?” Illya asks, looking over Napoleon’s head at Gaby as they start down the hall.

“I don’t know. I heard something and when I opened my door he was there on the floor. He said he was trying to get to the infirmary.”

“Did something happen?” It’s unclear if Illya is asking Napoleon or Gaby or just asking.

Gaby’s mind goes back to the horrible bruising and she looks up at Napoleon. “Did you bump your ribs on something?”

Napoleon shakes his head.

“Were you feeling unwell before this?” Illya asks.

Napoleon doesn’t answer for a moment and it’s obvious that it’s not just because he’s trying to catch his breath. “I’ve…” he finally says. “...been a bit…out of breath. Not…not this bad.”

Illya makes a sound deep in his throat, his face stony. She can see the tension in his jaw and neck. He’s struggling to maintain his composure. She can relate. But Napoleon is in bad enough shape without the two of them adding their emotions to the mix.

There’s not much conversation the rest of the way to the infirmary, only the occasional encouraging word to the American whose steps grow increasingly clumsy, his breathing louder. He’s barely standing by the time they get there, and Gaby and Illya lower him into the nearest chair.

“Call Cassidy,” Illya says, and usually Gaby would say something petulant at his commanding tone but now the thought doesn’t even cross her mind. She just nods and hurries over to the telephone, dialing the number for the on-call medic.

“It’s a bit early for a medical emergency, isn’t it?”

Gaby doesn’t have time for this. Her voice is sharp when she says, “You need to get here now.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” The line goes dead before Gaby can tell him that fifteen minutes is too fucking long.

She hangs up and turns just in time to see Napoleon double over, taken by a sudden coughing fit. Illya’s hand is immediately on the American’s back, rubbing in small circles.

“But’ sil’nym,” he murmurs softly. Be strong.

The loud, hacking coughs racking Napoleon’s body make Gaby want to run back to her bed and cover her ears with a pillow. They’re harsh and painful-sounding, and Napoleon looks terrified. And then his already wide eyes get a little bit bigger and he gags and red pours from his mouth, bright and frothy. Illya freezes, staring, his face going pale. Gaby stares, too, just for a second before shaking herself from her daze. She grabs one of the crisply folded towels sitting on the nearest hospital bed and moves to Napoleon’s side, wiping the red from his mouth.

He’s not coughing now, but his entire body is trembling. He sits up, moving slowly, leaning against the back of the chair as he struggles to catch his breath. His battered chest heaves unevenly and he looks utterly exhausted. Illya crouches next to him and envelops one of Napoleon’s hands in both of his.

“Hold on,” he whispers. “The doctor is coming, you hear me?”

Napoleon nods once, weakly. His breath is coming in shallow, wheezing gasps now and there’s a blue tint to his lips that fills Gaby with dread. He blinks heavily, and then his eyes roll back and his head lolls, dipping down toward his chest.

“Hey,” Illya says with mounting alarm as he takes Napoleon’s face in his hands. “Hey, hey! Cowboy!” He tilts Napoleon’s face up, pats his cheek with open desperation. There’s no response. Gaby feels tears spring up in her eyes.

“Solo!” Illya cries. “Please. Please. Pazhalsta!” He places his forehead against Napoleon’s and closes his eyes. Gaby thinks she sees a tear roll down his cheek. “Breathe, Napoleon. Keep breathing.”

She watches, numb. He’s not going to get here in time, she thinks. He’s not going to get here in time and Napoleon is going to die.

And then a familiar voice says, “Does someone want to tell me what the devil is going on?”

They do their best to fill the doctor in and he listens attentively, nodding as he and Illya get Napoleon onto a bed, asking a few questions here and there as he fits an oxygen mask over Napoleon’s face.

“I’ll need to separate you for a moment,” Doctor Cassidy finally says. “I need to do an x-ray of his chest and the two of you can’t be in the room for that.”

“An x-ray?” Illya’s voice is small. His fingers curl and uncurl nervously. “This is…this is from what I did?”

Cassidy looks puzzled as he moves to the head of Napoleon’s bed. “I’m sorry, what you did?”

“After I pulled him from the water. I--I only did what they trained us to do in the first-aid course.”

Confusion gives way to understanding. “Ah,” Cassidy says. “No, I don’t believe Solo’s current state has anything to do with that. You did exactly as you should’ve. I’ve really got to take him for the x-ray.” He looks over his shoulder as he wheels Napoleon off toward the tiny room that houses the x-ray machine. “I know it’s a long shot, but the two of you should try and get some sleep. You look an absolute fright.”

Gaby has no intention of taking his advice--not that she could even if she wanted to. She moves over to Illya and leans against him, his large frame standing reassuringly steady. His arm slowly moves around her, pulling her tighter nearly to the point of being uncomfortable, and she realizes quickly that he’s not just holding onto her for her sake. Rather, he’s clinging on for dear life, like a man overboard.

xxx

Illya Kuryakin has done many hard things in his life. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He’s been pushed to his limits more times than he can count, survived things most men couldn’t dream of. Yet somehow, sitting here seems the hardest. Everything about the room makes him want to flee: the sterile bright white of the floors and walls and ugly washed out green of the blankets, the bitter chemical smell of antiseptic, and of course Napoleon. The figure in the bed looks so far from the vibrant, charismatic cowboy that Illya is used to. He’s pale, with shadows under his eyes and darkening the contours of his stubbly, unshaven face and there are lines running from the backs of his hands to hanging bags and the tube--the awful, invasive tube that looks to Illya like a form of torture--that goes down Napoleon’s throat and is attached to the machine that’s the only thing keeping him alive.

The machine.

The sound of that machine will, Illya is certain, haunt him to his grave. The rhythmic, mechanical sound--two thumps, followed by a loud whoosh, played on repeat--makes Illya’s skin crawl as it forces Napoleon’s lungs to fill and deflate.

It’s been three days and he still isn’t used to it, still has to fight the urge to get up from the cramped, uncomfortable chair and run away and not look back until Napoleon is better.

Unfortunately, he loves the damned fool.

So he stays.

xxx

“So--” Napoleon takes a sip of water to soothe his throat and tries again. “So I was drowning?”

“We in the medical field call it pulmonary edema,” Doc Cassidy says. “Drowning usually involves just a bit more water. One more deep breath…” He straightens up and takes the stethoscope out of his ears and drapes it around his neck. “Well your lungs are certainly sounding better. I’ll check back in the morning but I think one more night here ought to do it!”

Napoleon watches with amusement as Illya perks up considerably at the news, straightening in his chair as the doctor turns to leave.

“So, this means he will be ready to--”

Napoleon cranes his neck and peers around Cassidy to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at Illya, smiling smugly when the Russian quickly looks away, his cheeks taking on the faintest hint of pink. Illya clears his throat.

“--ready to resume normal activities?”

“I should think so, yes. I could write a prescription for a life jacket if you’d like.” He turns to Napoleon, eyebrows quirked in mock sincerity. Napoleon gives him a dry smile.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Doc.”

“Right. Well, I’m off then! The wife is dragging me to the opera this evening. If there is another emergency, please do not hesitate to get a hold of me.”

“And ruin your lovely night out? I wouldn’t dream of it…Thank you, Doctor.”

“Until next time, Agent Solo.”

His footsteps have barely receded before Illya leans in, his nose bumping the cannula in Napoleon’s. Napoleon smiles.

“You,” Illya says between kisses. “Are never--never--going in the water again.”

Napoleon doesn’t argue.

xxx end

#whumptober2022 #no.19 #enough is enough #head lolling #the man from uncle #tmfu #pulmonary edema #delayed drowning #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #napollya #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump

48 notes · View notes

serickswrites · 2 years

Text

Enough

Warnings: captivity, knives, stabbing, blood, wounds, unconsciousness, rescue, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee’s buckled as Whumper plucked the blade from their gut. “Ah, such a shame. I thought you would stay standing for that one,” Whumper purred as they licked the blade.

Whumpee could barely keep their eyes open. Their head lolled forward. “Mmmph,” they hummed. It was all they could do to respond.

Whumper fisted Whumpee’s hair and lifted their head. “Don’t go passing out on me just yet. I’m not done with you yet.”

Whumpee felt the blood running down their legs and onto the ground below them. They could barely keep their eyes open. They blinked. Once. Twice.

“Oh thank God!” Caretaker said as they cupped Whumpee’s cheek. “Hang on, Whumpee. We’re getting you out of here. We’re getting help.”

Whumpee was confused. Whumper was holding their face. Not Caretaker. “C-C-C--”

“It’s ok, Whumpee. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

Whumpee blinked again. When they opened their eyes, they were on their back. Caretaker squeezed their hand. “Just stay with me, please, Whumpee. Stay with me.”

Where did they go? Why were they on the ground? “C-C-C--” but the urge to blink was too strong.

“Keep your eyes open, Whumpee. Please.” Caretaker’s voice sounded so far away.

And Whumpee was so tired. They blinked once more. The sound of sirens grew louder as Whumpee fought to keep their eyes open. They had to. Caretaker said to stay. But they were so tired. Whumpee closed their eyes one final time as the sound of paramedics rushing in filled the room.

34 notes · View notes

arecaceae175 · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 19: Repeatedly Passing Out, Head Lolling (Time)

AO3 link. Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, injury, head injuries specifically, vomiting, and it's not the most concluded thing ever

Warriors wasn’t quite sure how it happened. If he was being honest, he wasn’t paying as much attention to the others as he should have.

He knew Time hadn’t been sleeping. That wasn’t anything new, but it had been worse than usual lately. Warriors, once again, wasn’t sure why. Things had been going so well, though, and they were in Time’s Hyrule, so Warriors figured it couldn’t hurt to relax a bit.

Usually he kept a keen eye on his companions; a captain needed to know the state of his troops at all times, after all. But they were in the Old Man’s own world, and they had already defeated a troop of infected monsters, so Warriors didn’t think they would come across anything else. At least, he figured they would be able to get to a town and stock up on supplies before they did.

Warriors didn’t see the harm in splitting up to scout the area for provisions until they made it to a town. He took Time with him, at least, to keep an eye on the man.

He was, unfortunately, very wrong.

The monsters had come out of nowhere. Warriors was quick to pull his blade and slash at the closest one. He just barely scratched the monster, and his blade came away sticky with black blood.

“Infected!” Warriors yelled.

He got caught up in his own monsters after that. He hadn’t been able to get himself back into the captain mindset after allowing himself to relax. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, and before he knew it he was separated from Time.

Warriors glanced around, trying to gauge which direction Time had gone. His enemy took advantage of his momentary lapse and plunged its sword into his thigh. Warriors’ reflexes were quick, and he was able to kill the monster before the blade was pushed too deep.

Thankfully, it was the last one in the area. Warriors made sure to check his surroundings thoroughly, this time. The clearing was completely empty; there were no monsters left, but TIme was nowhere to be found. How had he gotten so far away? He could hear the clashing of swords behind him, so he turned towards the sound.

“Ah!” Warriors cried out as he put weight on his injured leg. Warriors shook his head to clear the haze, and swallowed down the pain. HIs adrenaline was fading, making the injury more difficult to ignore, but now was not the time for his body to fall. He grit his teeth and jogged towards the sounds of battle.

A pained yell pierced the air, and Warriors’ heart leapt into his throat. Warriors pushed himself faster, and burst through the foliage in time to see Time nearly behead a lizalfo with his Biggoron Sword. Time continued moving with the momentum of the sword’s swing and twisted awkwardly to the side.

“Time!” Warriors called, rushing to his side. He quickly glanced around the small clearing, and was relieved to find it empty of monsters.

Time was leaning heavily on his sword. Warriors put a hand on his chest to steady him, and noticed blood steadily dripping from Time’s hairline.

“You alright, old man?” Warriors asked. Time was breathing heavily, head still bowed.

“Sprite?” Warriors asked, worry creeping into his voice.

“We have to… get back to the… others,” Time slurred, and tried to push himself fully upright. He swayed dangerously to the side. Warriors’ quick reflexes were the only reason he didn’t end up on the ground.

“Woah!” Warriors grabbed onto the edge of his armor with one hand and wrapped the other around Time’s waist. Time’s head lolled onto his shoulder. “Slow down.”

“I’m gonna-” Time lurched to the side and retched violently.

“Okay, I’ve got you,” Warriors said, fully supporting Time as his stomach expelled its contents. Eventually, he stopped and hung limply in Warriors grasp.

“Why don’t we sit down for a minute,” Warriors suggested gently. There was no response, and Warriors felt anxiety jolt through his body. He carefully lowered Time to the ground so that he was leaning against the tree. Time had his eyes closed and gently leaded his head against the tree. Warriors leaned back and kicked some dirt over the pile of sick so the smell wouldn’t meet Time’s nose.

“You with me?” Warriors asked. Time made an affirmative noise. Warriors felt over his shoulder for his bag and pulled it around to his front.

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes,” Warriors said as he shoved a hand in his bag to dig for a potion.

“Don’t… think I can,” Time muttered, voice small and wavering. Warriors paused his search, and gently put a hand on Time’s shoulder.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay. I just need you to stay awake until I can get you a potion and find the others.” Warriors said. For a moment Time didn’t respond and Warriors’ heart rate sped up. Then, after far too long, Time slowly peeled one eye open and his unfocused gaze landed somewhere over Warriors’ shoulder.

Warriors smiled. “There you go,” He praised, even though Time looked like he might retch again.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Warriors asked.

“I, uh,” Time started, blinking rapidly. He swallowed thickly. “I don’t…”

Warriors felt anxiety lace around his heart.

“C’mon, where is it,” Warriors muttered to himself. There, finally, Warriors’ felt his hand close around a glass bottle. He ripped it out of his bag and moved to kneel next to Time. His thigh screamed, but he ignored it.

“I have a potion here, do you think you can manage it?” Warriors asked. Time stared blankly ahead.

“Time,” Warriors said. Time still didn’t respond. Warriors snapped his fingers in front of Time’s face, making him startle slightly. His face twisted in pain, and Warriors pushed down any guilt he felt. Emotions could be dealt with after he was sure Time was going to be okay.

“Focus on me, Link,” Warriors said. Time dragged his gaze to Warriors’ face. It still didn’t seem like Time was truly looking at him, but Warriors would take what he could get. Warriors held up the red potion.

“This is a health potion. I need you to drink it,” Warriors instructed.

“Okay,” Time muttered. He tried to bring an arm up to grasp the bottle, but he missed by a wide margin. Time’s hand hit his thigh wound, and Warriors couldn’t hold back a cry of pain. As the wave passed, Warriors risked a glance at his thigh.

It was still bleeding sluggishly, and had stained his pants a dark red. The wound was jagged and ripped, and bits of his flesh were dangling on to the edges. It didn’t look good.

“Oh,” Warriors muttered, as a wave of lightheadedness hit him hard.

Time managed to grasp his wrist, and shoved the potion back in his direction. “You…” Time muttered, then swallowed thickly and scrunched his eyes shut.

“No, Time, you-”

“Listen!” Time snapped, voice the clearest it’s been the whole time. “I can’t… You’ve gotta get us out of here. Can’t do that if you bleed out.”

Warriors watched Time with wide eyes. It seemed that moment of clarity was all he would be granted, and his hand slipped from Warriors’ arm.

“Old man?” Warriors asked. Time didn’t respond.

Warriors cursed. He knew Time was right. He wouldn’t last long in this state, and a red potion couldn’t do much for a concussion, anyway.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” Warriors muttered, then swallowed the potion in one go. “I’m getting you out of here.”

#whumptober2022 #no.19 #repeatedly passing out #head lolling #linked universe #fic #linkeduniverse #lu fic #linked universe fic #lu warriors #lu time #tw:#graphic descriptions of violence #injury #head injury #vomiting #ace writes

44 notes · View notes

actress4him · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022

NO. 19 - ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

Knees Buckling | Repeatedly Passing Out | Head Lolling

Contains: blood, aftermath of battle, passing out

“It’s over.” The words spill out in a rush of released breath, almost turning into laughter at the end. “We did it.”

The carnage of the battle surrounds them. They’re exhausted and bloody, and there’s still much to be done, but they’re alive. Both of them, still standing side by side, safe. That’s what counts.

“We did it,” Whumpee echoes. They turn to smile at Caretaker, but it doesn’t quite reach their eyes, something in their expression almost dazed.

Caretaker frowns. “Hey, you okay?”

They start to nod, then abruptly abort the movement. “I-I…”

That’s all the warning Caretaker gets before their eyes roll back in their head and their knees buckle. With a shout of surprise they lunge forward, barely getting their arms underneath Whumpee before they hit the ground.

“Whumpee! Whumpee, can you hear me?” There’s no response. Their skin has gone cold and pale, head lolling back over Caretaker’s arm as they shift them to get a better look at their body. There’s blood everywhere, but all of it’s drying, not theirs…

…except for the spot that’s gradually spreading across their torso.

#whumptober2022 #no.19 #knees buckling #head lolling #original content #fic #blood #passing out #battle #ficlet #drabble #whump prompt #writing prompt

28 notes · View notes

callaeidae3 · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022 Day 19: Enough is enough

Knees Buckling | Repeatedly Passing Out | Head Lolling

A favourite scene of mine to draw (and one of my most favourite scenes to write) from The Case of Kindall, K. - Chapter 11

If Yuuki hadn't received permission, to carry Kyle out of the prison cell and the prison altogether, he'd probably have still have found a way to carry Kyle out of there that day. Legally or illegally.

He wouldn't wait around for hypothermia (or something else) to almost kill him another time.

#whumptober2022 #no.19 #enough is enough #head lolling #kindall k series #art #unconscious #hypothermia #cradled #whump art #hurt comfort #yuuki takahashi #kyle kindall #protective caretaker #the case of kindall k #kk1

39 notes · View notes

whumpypepsigal · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022 | No. 19: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

knees buckling | repeatedly passing out | head lolling

Blood & Treasure s02e13: “Danny. Hey. Wake up. Help's on the way. Help's on the way.” — “I'm sorry I'm bleeding all over you.”

628 notes · View notes

whump-or-whatever · 2 years

Text

So I think we can pretty much all agree that head lolling is good, right?

But how about fully body lolling? When their head lolls and then whumpee’s shoulders just follow and they slowly slide to the side and eventually have to catch themself with their arm.

And then their arm gives out and they end up fully on the ground on their side, then they roll onto their back. Then more head lolling…

The circle of life🙌

#whump #whump prompt #whump tropes #whump idea #whump scenario #head lolling #whump prompts #whumpblr #whump community

26 notes · View notes

seldomscilence16 · 2 years

Text

Whumptober day 19: Enough is Enough

Fandom: TMNT

Prompts;

Knees Buckling

Repeatedly passing out

Head lolling

And coming back around my fixations list. We have some more turtle* (*not so) angst. }:) Mikey is both Bamf and a little dark at one point? But youngest siblings can be pretty unhinged at times so…

Mikey comes from a pretty big family. It's not a conventional family by any means, but a family nonetheless. And being the youngest could have its advantages, sure, but there were also the downsides that made him want to tear his hair out and scream at the top of his lungs.

He loved his family, he would do anything for his family, and they didn't seem to understand that he could. That he wasn't some baby who couldn't handle himself, that he had natural talent, and good ideas and a great potential, but he was never really given the chance to prove it. So, when it just caused discontent, he stopped trying so hard.

But now, his family was in danger. And he could be thankful that he was underestimated, because it gave him the chances he needed. People didn't seem to see that this family was full of protectors, and he was part of it. But he'd get to show them, he'd make them pay for what they'd done. And they would learn, they would learn not to cross Michaelangelo Hamato.

…

Mikey supposed you could say this is all his fault, And even if somehow it wasnt, he'd get blamed anyway he's sure. Really it probably was his fault, with their father and the others on a training/information gathering trip, it was just the four of them and he should have been on his best guard.

Instead he was too slow, and before even Raphael could react, they were down. Mikey thinks it may have been their quickest defeat by an enemy, he can only imagine how disappointed Master Splinter will be, if they- no when they- make it out or this. Because these guys, whoever they were, hurt his brothers.

They'd obviously done their research, Mikey thinks as he watches them. They inject Raph with something, and almost immediately, his eyes roll and head falls forward, out like a light-They obviously know what chemicals work past their enhancements. Taking him out first was smart, because when Raph got angry it was hard to take him down, and what they did next definitely would have angered him.

Donnie is next, which most would think a weird choice, but Donnie was a plan guy, and Leo relied on him more than people knew. They stick something to the back of his neck, and it must hurt because Donnie jerks before going stiff, then limp. He's not unconscious, but his head lulls this way and that, his eyes fogging over in a way that says 'no one home'. His face is tense though, as if in pain, and Mikey can only assume the device is somehow keeping him from thinking or doing.

Leo has been thrashing this whole time, obviously angry, angrier than Mikeys used to seeing from his older brother. The fact they are still able to hold him down is astounding, though it could have something to do with the sword at the back of Mikey's neck. But as Mikey said, these guys have done their research, so they do Leo next, because Mikey is the youngest.

Underestimated and labeled as the weak link, it hurts, but it's to his advantage.

They inject Leo with- Mikey assumes- the same thing they gave Raph, but while his struggles weaken, they do not cease like Raphs had. Mikey's plan solidifies when they make their next move, none of these guys will be spared from his wrath. Not as they stab Leo. Not as the blade is pulled, covered in his brother's blood, from Leo's side. They inject him again, even though Leo has slumped-breathing harsh- and his brother's eyes close.

Even as they simply knock Mikey over the head, not caring to take the same precautions, Mikey feels something snap inside him. As darkness encompasses his vision, his brothers’ conditions imprinted on his eyelids, he makes a promise to himself. To make these men pay, and get his brothers to safety. Even if it's the last thing he does.

…

Mikey had taken it upon himself, to learn as much as he could about taking care of people. Donnie had a lot on his shoulders most days, and Mikey wasnt stupid, he could see how the weight made him sag. So he'd subtly inserted the thought into the others' heads, because his family was full of stubborn buttheads, and watched as they'd each come up with a way to help. Raph and Leo started helping in the garage, Casey and April helped in the lab, repairs around their hideout were done together rather than forced on Donnie. And Mikey, Mikey decided being a Medic would be a big help.

He was grateful for it now, as he used their wrapping to bind Leo's wound as best he could. He needed far more than bandages, but Mikey didn't think they'd be getting that anytime soon. He didn't know what they wanted yet, but with the three they deemed important out of commision, he wondered how they planned to get anything from them.

Unless they wanted to dissect them and see what made them tick, which… made the most sense. Master Splinter had tried to protect them from the world, tried to give them as normal a life as he could. But they were science experiments, practically super soldiers, and it made sense that others would want to use that. Even if they were just kids.

He sat back, hands and pants bloody, and surveyed his other two brothers.

They were all in seperate cages, three in a row- Donnie, Leo, Raph- while Mikey's own cage was beside Leos. He'd just barely been able to reach his brother, who'd been awake just long enough to scoot to the bars before he'd passed out again. But he could do nothing for Raph or Donnie.

Donnie, whose head hangs limp, chin against his chest, before it’d sway lazily one way then the other. Occasionally Mikey would catch a glimpse of his face, when his hair shifted and head turned just so, and that look from before was really only getting worse. His eyebrows knitted, teeth clenched, but eyes dull.

Raph was still out cold, sprawled on his side and looking pale. He'd twitch sometimes, but hadn't woken up yet. Besides the few bruises and knicks they'd all sustained, he seemed the best shape of the three, even if a bit sickly.

They wouldn't be much help in an escape, so Mikey had to figure out how to get three limp noodles to safety. Really the only option is to incapacitate everyone in the building so no one can stand in his way. Which he had no problem with, he was looking forward to punching some lights out, to tearing through them all left and right, for stomping on their remains for thinking they could get away with this, for-

Alright, maybe he needed to chill a little. No use in peeling faces off when his brothers needed medical attention. Mikey was a ninja, they had a code or whatever. And while he would not be holding back on these guys, his main focus needed to be his family.

The doors across the room open, and Mikey watches their every step- eyes wide and fearful to play up the innocent youngest vibe these guys seemed to see him as. Trying to get a read on their intentions, while ironing out the details of his plan. They stop in front of his cage, which is nice because he couldn't guarantee his control would last much longer if they'd gone after the others.

"If you quaporate, the others won't be killed now, understand?" Well, this would be easier than he thought.

A fearful nod, a little trembling, a loving look to his brothers, and these guys are sold. Mikey couldn't wait to see their faces, when he clobbered them.

…

He knows better than to act out on the first contact. He needs more information before he can initiate anything, he needs to not run in fists first when he couldn't 100% rely on them.

So he lets them take him the first time. And the second time. Even a third time. But the time he has to act is dwindling each time, so he'll have to use what he's gathered so far, and do his best.

Because Donnies curled up on his side now, practically grinding his forehead into the ground. Raphs breathing sounds like that dying frog from Ogre the 3rd. And Leo, who'd woken up when he'd returned both the first and second time, didn't even stir the third time, the wrapping around his side red and spreading.

He sits against the bars, as close to his brothers as he can get, and centers himself like they've been trained. He pushes away all his distractions, prays for strength for his brothers, and prays that he'll get them through this. When the doors open again, he is calm, pain has been pushed aside, and his focus is solely on what he has to do. He knows it won't last forever though, he needed to do this fast.

His hair covers his eyes, he doesn't hear what they say as they open the door, he's focused on the breathing behind him. He's stiller than he's ever been before, stiller than he ever thought possible, he can practically feel the air shifting around the arm reaching for him.

His eyes open, and he's outside his cage, the two men unconscious- or maybe dead- inside it. He's given little time to think about it, as the doors open and more men- he'd only seen men, he wonders why- enter. The fact they'd been watched this whole time, and still underestimated him, proves they are not as smart as they think.

He moves through the forces with the ease of adrenaline and instinct- and training too of course. Still it's one against a heck of a lot more, and for all their enhancements, they are still mortals, so it's no surprise they land quite a few hits too. But running on pure spite seems to work more than he expected, his brothers' forms behind him reminding him and fueling his actions.

Revenge wasn't something Master Splinter encouraged, he'd say something about it blackening their hearts and following the same road as Shredder or something he's sure. But Mikey honestly couldn't care less right now. If Splinter wanted to see them again, then Mikey had to do this, besides he'd rather have the blood of enemies on his hands than that of his brothers. Even if it garnered Splinters disapproval. It wouldn't be the first time anyway.

…

By the time they stop coming through the door, Mikey is exhausted. He waits a moment, to see if there would be any sneak attacks or the likes, but nothing happens, no one moves, so Mikey makes his way- walking backwards- to his brothers cages.

They were code locked, but Mikey had heard the tones they made when they opened his own, and thankfully they were stupid enough to use the same for all of them. The only problem now was getting three teens out of here. He chews on his lip a moment, eyes flickering from the doors to his brothers.

"Alright Mikey… you can do this."

He goes to Donnies first, eying the device then his brother's face. He'd need to be careful, he didn't want to mess with any of the nerves or important things at the base of his skull. It was obvious that it was messing with Donnies functions, so in theory, if he pulled it out it should… stop interfering? Or it could kill his brother, or paralyze him, or make him brain dead forever! Or-

No! Now was not the time for panicking.

He grips the device between two fingers, sends another prayer to any ancestors listening, and pulls. Donnie yelps and Mikey flinches as his brother does a full body shiver before going completely limp.

He's killed him. OhgodsMikeykilledhisbrotherhowcouldheohmygodsstrikemedownnow-

Another groan, and Donnies head weakly rolls to look up at him with one eye squinted open.

"Motren." He croaks out. And Mikey could weep.

"I promise, once we get out of here."

He helps his brother into a sitting position outside his cage, then takes his arm wrappings to redo Leo's dressings. He can only figure that whatever they injected his brothers with, was hindering their healing capabilities. He hopes it'll flush itself out, cause he doubts he'd find any notes about it lying around.

He carefully pulls Leo out of his cell to lean against Donnie, then drags Raph- who's feverish and pale- to join them. Leo's eyes open briefly, his hand resting on Raphs forehead before closing once more. Mikey stares at the three before looking around the room for anything useful. Besides a body sled this room is useless. But Donnie, despite his head randomly lolling forward, is at least awake. And while it's not a ninja weapon, it'll have to do for now.

"Donnie, shoot anyone that's not us okay?"

He presses a gun from a fallen baddie into his brother's hand, before turning to the doors. He passed a lot of doors when they dragged him around, one of them had to have something useful.

…

He stares at the brother pile he'd made. Two rolling office chairs taped together, Leo sitting in one, Donnie in the other, with Raph across their laps. It was so, not the best plan, but it was the only one he had. And with the movement he'd heard on his way back, it was the best way to get his brother's mobile while leaving him open to protect them.

"Alright, let's keep up the not dying thing we've got going, and get the heck out of here."

He drags rather than pushes, putting himself first just in case. Donnie still had a good drip on his gun, had managed not to shoot Mikey when he'd come back, so hopefully he'd shoot anyone still lingering around. If they got past Mikey that is.

At the very least, he's assuming the rest of the people still trying, have gotten smart enough to know he's a threat. It messes with his element of surprise, but at least he'll have a challenge to focus on with his mind now in ten different places- at the least.

He stops just before a corner, hears the shift of movement, and can only assume this is their final stand. Turning his brothers so the chair backs are against the wall, and Donnie can hopefully have a good enough view to have time to defend, he takes a stuttered breath and slips into the shadows. He doesn't have a stealth weapon, he'll be able to get one shot off before his position is revealed. He had to make it count.

There aren't very many left, it bugs him that they were able to overtake them at all, that three of his brothers were taken down by a group he’s been able to defeat in less than an hour, and that was after everything they did. Did catching them off guard really allow all of this? Or was Mikey missing something?

He shoots twice in quick succession, before ducking out of the way and shooting some more. He pants as he stands in the middle of their fallen bodies, hands trembling by his sides,

“Gelo?”

He must of been quiet for too long, Donnie’s voice shocking him back to his mission. He knows for a fact two of the big guys involved in their capture are missing from the bodies. He needs to get his brothers out of here before they rear their ugly faces, the fight is slowly draining from him, he needed to focus on his brothers, and fixing his mistake.

He comes around the corner, moving the gun Donnie points at his face,

“Sorry ‘Tello, lets get out of here.”

…

He pushes his brothers through alley after alley, not sure if it’s simply the chairs leading him forward or his own will. He also doesn’t know exactly where he’s headed, maybe home, but he can’t be sure. He needs someone with medical knowledge, maybe Leatherhead, or father, but he didn’t know where they were. So he needed supplies instead, Donnie could maybe direct him on what to do if he stayed coherent long enough, he just needed to clean and stitch Leo up, get that stuff out of his and Raph’s systems, and keep an eye on Donnie. He could do that…

Noise above has his heart rate spiking as he pulls to a stop, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he looks to the roofs. It’s still, too still, before a shadow moves and Karai is jumping down, her face shows her concern as she pulls her mask down.

“What happened?”

“They need help.” His knees buckle, trusting his sister to help now. They would be fine, he could rest now right? Please… let them be fine.

31 notes · View notes

rookthorne · 2 years

Text

Victorious | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ

Pairing; Stucky Word Count; 1.8k Warnings; hurt/comfort, descriptions of blood and injury, swearing, pet names, I play with canon, background character death (Tony) A/N; I was watching Endgame, and I thought why not. I'm gonna make this better - well, imo anyway.

WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

Medals were awarded to Soldiers that went above and beyond the call of duty, that pushed beyond what could be the limits of human endurance to get the job done and save lives. But Steve? Steve only needed to see Bucky one last time before he disappeared into the fray and emerged victorious.

It had all come down to this. The fight of his life, the very last one. His shield - the vibranium shattered and torn in half by the blade of a tyrant, a self-imposed prophet.

God, what he wouldn’t give to be back in Brooklyn and picking fights in back allies with bullies two, three, times his size.

What he would not give to be back where he, Steve Rogers, belonged; his home, with his Bucky.

The battlefield was barren, a No Man’s Land, its stretch of destruction spanning along the length of where only moments ago, Bruce had snapped half the population back. Selfishly, Steve wanted to abandon all hope and hide, but every single fibre of his being screamed at him to fight.

So, he did.

Steve would take on this whole damn army by himself if it meant rest. If it meant he would be able to go back to the shell of his home.

The grit of dirt and blood against his exposed skin was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. The open fracture on his forearm from a blow he was powerless to stop, it was nothing, compared to the pain in his heart.

Steve knew for damn sure that there was no way he could tear his way through Thanos’ approaching army. Its soldiers were moving en masse in units that resembled those of what he had seen many decades ago; uniform, and unbreachable.

Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.

Oh, the irony. Here he was, squaring his shoulders for the fight of his life, and it was no different to the fight he lost almost a century ago that took everything away from him. Everything.

The strap of his shield tightened and he grunted, allowing only a small wince of pain to show because damn it all to hell - he was hurting.

Leviathans wormed their way through the air like the monsters Steve saw in his nightmares, every bit as frightening as they were in his dreams when he was awake. If Sam were here, he would have called them something that would have made Sarah Rogers turn in her grave if he repeated the sentiment.

Steve’s feet carried him wearily to an outcrop of busted pipes and rebar so he could look upon the landscape before him. Hope dwindled like the blood in his veins, pumping, but leaking from an open wound to leave him bare. Thor and Tony were nowhere to be seen.

A crackle in his ear gave him pause - the damn thing broke when Thanos threw him to the ground, he was sure of it.

“Hey Cap, you read me?”

Steve froze. That was Sam. How hard had he hit his head?

“Cap, it’s Sam, can you read me?”

Steve looked around, unable to stop the feel of hope swelling in his chest. When he saw nobody there, he raised his hand to press one finger against the comms jammed into his ear, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Before he could utter a single word, a quiet sizzling sound came from behind him, over his left shoulder.

“On your left.”

Steve turned and felt his heart seize in his chest. The beginnings of a portal - a portal - sparking to life.

Through the circling sparks Steve could make out four figures. The one leading the charge began to start a chant of “Yibambe!” that reverberated through his chest with a ringing sense of relief. T’Challa, the King of Wakanda and the man that mounted the defence five years ago, came to a stop beside him and Steve, honest to God, almost cried.

Shuri and Okoye came to a stop either side of T’Challa, but the fourth figure made Steve’s world completely stop.

Bucky.

Natasha’s Paratrooper in hand, Bucky stalked forward and stood just in front of Steve, the stony expression of the dormant Winter Soldier fading for just a moment when Bucky stared into his face. “Hey, Stevie,” Bucky said simply, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Taking more bullies on than ever, I see.”

The way Steve’s ability to speak left him at just that moment was enough to frustrate a man to tears, and Steve didn’t suppress them.

“Buck,” Steve managed eventually, his eyes wide and inhibitions gone with the wind at seeing Bucky alive and here. “You’re back.”

“Never left, doll,” Bucky winked and stood tall, the gun in his hand becoming an extension of himself again as he stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Steve. “Let’s show these bastards what for, hmm?”

Steve grinned and turned to face the enemy. Hope filled him like a tidal wave because with Bucky by his side, there was no way in hell he would lose, not again.

The fight was brutal. Weapons and bodies were flying in every direction, shouts and war cries could barely be heard over yells and screams of pain.

Steve had lost Bucky in the fight.

The two of them were separated by a pack of Outriders and one hell of a brute from the Black Order that Steve traded blow after blow with.

He was not going to lose Bucky, not again.

A well placed hit in the head from Mjölnir sent the brute flying backwards to land on its back in the dirt where Scott squished it under his foot.

“Bucky!” Steve cried into the fray, paying no mind to the chaos as it played out in front of him. “Where are you!” He scrambled over debris and fallen bodies, the latter more so the enemy than the ally. “Buck!”

Steve rounded a pile of debris at a sprint and stopped short at the sight before him, Bucky was on the ground and wrestling with a member of the Black Order - Corvus. Nothing but pure, cold fury flooded his veins when he took off again fast enough to break the sound barrier.

“You son of a bitch!” Steve yelled, tackling Corvus to the ground. His broken shield met Corvus’ exposed and bloodied neck with a barrage of blows that he could not stop - even when Corvus was still beneath him.

“Steve!” A hand on his shoulder was trying to pull him back but Steve resisted - Corvus had hurt Bucky, he had to hurt him back!

“Steve! C’mon!” The clatter of metal against earth beside him made Steve pause his assault to look around wildly - it was Bucky’s gun.

Steve could feel the pressure of two hands on his shoulders, the force of them pulling him back. “I need you to come back,” Bucky panted and he immediately snapped out of his daze, collecting Bucky into his arms for a hug that sewed his once shattered heart back together. “I need you to-”

Steve shushed him and held him tighter until he could feel the shake of Bucky’s shoulders cease - he hadn’t even realised Bucky had been crying.

When Steve loosened his grip to better look at Bucky, he suddenly slipped through Steve’s arms and fell to his knees with a low moan of pain. “Buck!” Steve cried and fell to his knees beside him, like two brothers - lovers - on a battlefield.

“‘M alright,” Bucky coughed and winced, his hand coming to rest against a slash in his navy vest. “Bastard got me.”

Steve frantically looked around amongst the chaos for shelter, anything that would give Bucky the chance to catch his breath. There was a boulder not far away, the slant and cover of a fallen trunk of a tree lay against it - perfect.

“I’m gonna haul you up,” Steve said quickly, grabbing hold of Bucky’s left arm and throwing it over his shoulder. “Hang on.” There was no protest and Bucky adjusted his feet so he could stumble at Steve’s side.

Thor came swinging out of nowhere to take out a horde of Outriders, stopping for barely a second to spare them a glance full of pride with his electric eyes. Then he was gone again, Stormbreaker in hand.

Just as they reached the boulder, Bucky crumpled in Steve’s hold again with a shout of pain that ended in a whimper. The two of them looked at his midsection and Bucky let out a feeble groan. Blood had seeped from the gash and bloomed over his vest at an alarming rate, and all Steve could do was haul him back to his feet. “Almost there, hang on!”

The boulder loomed over Steve as he approached, the growing heaviness of Bucky’s limp body pulled at his last nerve and ability to keep calm. Bucky’s head had come to rest against the crook of Steve’s neck and his once steady footsteps grew steadily more stumbled until he was dragging his feet.

Not like this, Steve begged silently.

“You with me, Buck?” Steve rushed as he sat Bucky down so his back rested against the boulder. He hovered a few inches from Bucky’s face and watched Bucky open his eyes blearily, a small smile growing on his lips.

“Damn right I am,” Bucky wheezed and Steve couldn’t help but release the breath he held in relief. “Steve, I need you to-”

“No, Buck, I’m not-”

“Listen to me, dammit,” Bucky snarled as he brought his left hand up to brush his thumb against Steve’s soot and blood covered cheek. “I need you to go back out there, and I need you to kick some alien ass.” Steve laughed and Bucky smiled weakly in return.

“Never woulda thought this would’ve happened,” Steve breathed, “back in the forties.”

“I never woulda thought a lot of this would have happened, doll,” Bucky replied carefully, a wince of pain contorting his face when he shifted slightly.

“Don’t you die on me, sweetheart,” Steve demanded, moving forward to place a soft kiss against the lips he had missed more than anything else in the world.

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully and shoved at his shoulder. “I ain’t done yet, Rogers.”

After the battle ended, with more loss than was bearable, Steve wandered back to where he had hidden Bucky. He passed by bodies that turned to dust on approach, and others that limped or stumbled for balance with little to no care or thought.

It was quiet, the only sound muffled sobs coming from the woman and boy stood over the body of one of his oldest friends - a hero.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to shed a tear of grief, however. Tony had proven he was the guy to make a sacrifice play after all, he wasn’t just a man in a suit of armour. He was a man of unshakable faith and courage that remained even when his heart stood still.

Tony, the narcissistic and sarcastic asshole, wouldn’t have wanted tears.

So, Steve cried for a different reason, for relief.

Sam was back, everyone was back - most importantly, Bucky, after five long years, he was back.

And by God, Steve would go through that battle a thousand times over if it meant Bucky would be there in the end, to welcome him into his arms and hold him close like they used to.

Enough was enough, Steve thought as he approached Bucky’s figure, still slumped against the boulder and watching him through half-lidded eyes. It was time to go home.

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

Masterlist | Library | AO3 | Wattpad

#whumptober2022 #no.19 #ENOUGH IS ENOUGH #Knees Buckling #Head Lolling #marvel #fic #hurt/comfort #descriptions of blood and injury #swearing #pet names #canon divergent #Tony's death #bucky barnes x steve rogers #bucky x steve #stucky #stevebucky #rookthorne's works #Victorious

25 notes · View notes