I need Price being very injured and how Shadow Graves reacts. I am begging, on my knees, i want to know how he handles his very mortal boyfriend being hurt
hello fellow captain!! this isn't proofread at all but i hope you enjoy it to ur standards :3c
also!! slight trigger warning, there's some graphic descriptions on injuries so be aware <3
“I’ll stop loving you when I die.” A phrase that Graves has always heard through his years of loving and living.
It was no surprise that Price had said it to him. He was a human in love with an immortal being, Graves knew that Price knew that. Their difference of life and quality played more of a role which was what Graves was anticipating. He was transparent in what the captain was getting into when they got together, Price knew the deal. Graves heard it many times, and even with Price saying it, the phrase didn’t hold any meaning to him, as much as he wished it did.
Graves gave a small smile. “Okay Price.”
It was a simple memory that played in his mind, overlapping the many other times his partner at the time had told him something similar. He anticipates when he's going to leave Price as he's done with many other lovers. Letting them live the rest of their life with someone just like them or die with a memory of a monster with human skin. This time, it was different. Price knew that Graves was immortal, unlike his past lovers. Graves doesn't have any motive to leave, at least, until Price is at his last breath.
But, Graves doesn't want to watch Price suffer. He may be immune to death, but he wasn't immune to emotions. No matter how numb he may feel at times, Price brought out more humanity in him than he initially thought he had.
So, when Graves found Price slumped over on a nearby abandoned building, he was at a loss for words. Unsure of what the situation was. As much as Price protested that Graves shouldn't follow him on missions, he still does. Watching from the shadows of what the captain was doing, making sure he was okay before promptly leaving and checking back in later. It was easy with shadow traveling, something that Graves always took advantage of. He can easily hide in the shadows so as to not interfere with his lover's mission.
Graves solidified out of the shadows, the sun had already set and left the sky with a cold grey-light blue. His steps were always quiet, but that didn't stop the grass from shifting underneath him. Next to Price were bodies of armored soldiers, bloodied and definitely dead. Price jumped at the sound of the grass shifting, pointing his handgun immediately towards the sound, but soon his eyes softened at the familiar sight of the shadow creature that he knew and loved. He lowered his gun and relaxed against the broken concrete of the building. Graves’ eyes squinted as he looked at his lover.
Price would've stood up by now and greeted him. Maybe he was tired. He looks tired, by the looks of the dark circles underneath his eyes he was busy, Graves concluded. The shadow creature walked towards the hat-less man, crouching down to eye level to see Price's condition better.
"Hello love," Price greeted, giving him the softest eyes that Graves adored.
"Hey," the shadow creature replied.
Graves observed the human, seeing how heavy his chest was rising and lowering. Graves doesn't know much about humans in general, but he knows that's unnatural. Where was his radio? Price's beard was also unkempt, messy. Made sense since he was on a solo mission for a few days, but it placed a need for Graves to fix it, strangely enough. His hair as well, despite being short-cropped, there were small spikes of hair in every direction.
The first word that popped into Graves’ mind as Price’s hand cupped the side of his face. His hands were chilling on his skin. Why were they cold as he was? Humans aren’t cold. Graves knew that. Price was as warm as the sun but now it was more akin to the icy nights of Antarctica. Humans aren’t cold. Price’s hand was also red, his handprint being highlighted by a dark crimson. Why was his hand red? Why was he cold? Graves' eyes wandered to torn up fabric surrounded by dark red as it answered his questions. Underneath the fabric was a deep crimson cut that led across Price's abdomen, a gutting almost. The incision was akin to the ocean if it was red instead of blue, dark and deep that Graves couldn't see anything but blood.
Graves could feel his physical form slip away, being a dark smokey mist that he knew all too well. His emotions weren't there, feeling a familiar void, but it seemed like his body was already aware of the sudden change of his mind. Graves saw many red patches over Price's clothes and armor of his opponents' blood, if Graves had to guess. Then, he saw slash marks on Price's calf, so deep that the skin would look like they were overlapping each other if put together again.
For the first time in a long time, Graves felt unsure. Price was far away from any nearby medical attention, he couldn't travel with Graves, and Graves couldn't travel in shadow with anything that wasn't made by him. He knew that if he were to go for help, Price might die younger than expected from the blood loss by the looks of it.
"Do you have anything that can help stop the bleeding?" Graves asked.
He knew it was a stupid question. It was impulsive. Emotion-based. A human trait that he clinged onto for something akin to hope. If Price did have the materials to bandage himself up, he would already have and continue with his mission or retreat somewhere more safer.
"No," Price replied, just as Graves predicted.
Graves' fingertips felt so light as they smoked into the air.
Graves placed his hand over Price's hand that was still cupping his face, feeling Price's blood paint the side of his face as Graves watched helplessly. There was no end of time. There was an end to life, however. Graves knew perfectly well how fragile humans were, how rough and tough they are, how fragile and tragic they can be. Whatever they want to be, they will set themselves to be.
So why did he feel so cheated out by something like God? A cruel joke by a man that Graves knew was just human figment, but it brought strange comfort to him.
"I'm sorry," Graves spoke shakily, unsure of what he meant. Why was he shaking?
Even with having to readjust his hand every once in a while as they phased through Price's own, Price still gave him those soft eyes through his uneven eyelids that Graves found fondness in, "it's okay, Love."
The shadow creature swallowed down a lump in his throat, his mind unsure if this was the right path. Was anything the right path if he had to do it over and over again? His mind raked if he should let Price let go, or if he should take the risk of turning him into what he was in love with. He let go of Price's hand, and watched at the other's hand slowly drop.
With a heavy tongue, Graves spoke, "would you like to live forever with me?"
"This may be the only lifetime I meet you," Price replied, "I want to be with you in every lifetime and see the generations pass by in your eyes."
"It will be a painful process. You may not even live."
"That'll be okay. You could at least say you tried."
Graves could feel himself turn smokey with every word, the bittersweetness bit at his skin. He didn't want the risk of killing Price, but he also didn't want to lose Price so early. Graves just nodded as he gave a sorrowful look, hoping for the best but anticipated the worse. He grabbed Price's knife, and placed the sharp blade on his palm. With a deep breath in, he sliced open his hand. He grunted at the sharp pain shooting through his body, he saw the familiar almost black crimson seep from the gash.
Graves hovered his cut hand over Price's abdomen, watching the blood fall into the open gash. He hissed as he squeezed his palm for more blood before retracting his hand once he was satisfied.
"I'm sorry beforehand," Graves said.
Graves cupped his lover's face, rubbing his thumb over the cold cheek, "sleep well, John." He gave the deadman a kiss on the forehead.
Price only gave him the tiniest bit of a smile as he watched Graves disappear into the shadows.
Graves was glad to see Price still be breathing when he came back to check on him 3 days later. Of course, he wasn't in the best condition. The fever had started, and Graves could see Price's heavy breathing getting worse. As much as he wanted to help, he knew he shouldn't. It could slow down the turning process and even worse, kill Price faster. Not to mention that Price wasn't exactly in a comforting area, he got into the inside of the abandoned building and was spending his nights there with limited supplies. Price's injuries were also deeply infected, which was what Graves wasn't too surprised about and hoped that his shadow curse would heal them properly.
When the first week was over, Graves was surprised to see Price still alive. He didn't cling onto hope though, he knows that. He had felt Price's temperature be inhumanely high and pity settled in his chest as Price had started coughing and occasionally had shivers run through his body. The infections on his injuries weren't getting any better, but they also weren't getting any worse. It was always uncomfortable watching the turning happen and the end product was a gamble of comfort or loss. There was no doubt that one was more favorable than the other, but it should be predicted for things to go wrong.
The second week had rolled out, Graves was ready to feel disappointment. Preparing himself to see a dead body with black ink-like blood from the corpse. Surprisingly, he didn't see that. In fact, he felt a small spark of something as Price was still alive. He was still very much suffering under his body breaking itself apart to become something entirely new but he was still alive. His fever didn't go down, and perhaps went up, his chills got worse and his coughing sounded awful. The coughs were always followed up by grunts of pain that brought sharp pins through Graves. Nothing he could do just yet.
The third week felt like a blessing, Price was still breathing. His fever mellowed down, his coughs didn't get any better but his chills seemed to be minimal. Graves had come in to check in, seeing his lover in a better state, he felt warm inside. A spark of joy. The infections on his injuries were actually healing, not rotting off like Graves predicted. If he had to guess, they would probably leave some scars but that's about it. He gently lifted Price's head onto his lap and stroked his hair, trying to tame the small wildness of brown hair.
"I'm sorry," Graves said, again, unsure of his own words.
Price didn't react. Still much in a coma of unruly flu symptoms that Graves wish weren't so painful on the ones he loved the dearest. There was nothing he could do but wait until Price's fever dropped.
On the final day, Graves came in the earliest of the day, hoping to catch Price waking up and seeing him be okay. And he did.
Price opened his eyes with a squint, straining his eyes as he tried to readjust to the early rise of the sun. He rose up from the hard concrete ground with crackings of joints, he stretched to his hearts content before the feeling of uncertainty came upon him. He felt lighter and colder. His body still running chills through him as his mind felt uncomfortable with the sudden temperature drop. His hand brushed over what used to be a deep gash on his stomach, and was now just a mere scar. He looked at his calf which was also just a scar, just much deeper and distorted his calf a bit.
Price looked over to a familiar figure standing in the opening of the abandoned building, a smile on his face and a very familiar fishing hat in one hand. Graves looked content, pleased, and very glad to see Price alive, well somewhat alive. He looked happy.
Graves had a smile plastered on his face, seeing the black scleras and Price's hands fading to black just like his own, it was better than success. It was a deep fear that was now pulled out of his brain like a carrot, he didn't have to be afraid of losing his man to time and morality.
"Hey, Love," Price greeted with a gravelly voice.
"Welcome back, Loverboy," Graves greeted back, walking over to the captain.
Graves wrapped his arms on Price's shoulders, placing the fishing hat on the man before he brought them close so that their lips could touch, "I missed you."
