(In the lead up to whumptober I will be drawing from the alternatives list)
Head Injury
While traumatic brain injuries are a horrific ailment to suffer in real life, there's something quite pleasing about the symptoms when writing them for fictional characters...
Light sensitivity
Balance Issues
Headaches
Vision Problems
Short/Long-term memory problems
Trouble thinking clearly,
Feeling more emotional
Easily frustrated/angered
The blend of symptoms make for a wonderful slow recovery fic filled with angst - particularly if writing graphic injury is not your cup of tea.
Whumptober 2021 - October 10th - Altno.6: Head Injury
Fandoms: Linked Universe
AO3
Warnings: Blood and injury
---
This can’t be happening. It wasn’t supposed to go so wrong.
It was supposed to be a simple exploration adventure with Wild into a cave near where the others have a camp set up. Hyrule didn’t expect anything to go wrong, let alone them accidentally slipping down a steep slope within the cave and ending up in a system of tunnels crawling with monsters of all kinds.
Not only that, but Wild hit his head on the way down and has been unconscious ever since.
The slope is too steep and dangerous to use to try and return to the surface, even without Wild being injured and unresponsive. All Hyrule can do is do his best to defend his friend while trying to search for another way out.
That’s what he’s doing now, even though he doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job at it.
He’s made okay progress going through the cave systems so far, only having to stop every once in a while to take down a lone stalfos or bot. He’s exhausted from having to carry Wild around everywhere though, which leaves him wishing more and more as time passes that they thought to bring some health potions or fairies with them. He has no idea how bad Wild’s injury truly is, nor what it will do to his already damaged memory. Then there’s the lingering fear that he’ll fail to protect his friend and get him out of here… that they will both die down here and it will be Hyrule's fault. The others don’t even know they’re gone, as they left in the middle of the night to avoid Twilight telling them no. Hyrule’s tried to reach Wind through the magic box thing Wild’s always carrying around, but either Wind isn’t awake to hear his pleas for help, or Hyrule is so useless he can’t even figure out how to do that correctly.
He shakes his head. He cannot afford to doubt himself right now. It’s not only his life on the line here. If he fails because he can’t keep his head on straight, then Wild will die and he’ll never forgive himself.
He holds Wild on his back as he shuffles through the dim caves, using one of his good candles he keeps on him for light. It should last him hours, as it’s magically made. Yet he cannot help but fear the shadows and his aloneness… what will happen if he’s down here long enough for the candle to go out.
Eventually, he comes to a large cavern, stopping just outside of it’s entrance. He can see light creeping around the corner into his hiding space, as well as shadows dancing on the illuminated walls. His ears twitch with the sounds of creatures. Snorting, rattling, hissing…
Anything can be in that cavern, just around the corner he’s hiding in.
He’s almost tempted to get a stronger one-handed grip on Wild’s arm and turn tail to find some other way, but his gut tells him that would be stupid. Monsters, especially ones like moblins and lizalfos, need the outside world to survive… which means that if they’re gathered down here in the caves, then there must be a way out nearby.
Wild needs help before his wound gets worse… Hyrule cannot afford to waste time to find a way out not riddled with monsters.
He takes a deep breath and then lowers Wild to the ground, placing him so his back leans against the rocky wall. Not for the first time since he’s met the others, Hyrule wishes he could use his Life Spell on more people other than himself.
He places his magic candle next to Wild’s body, then straightens his back with a few pops. He’s been hunched over, carrying Wild, for so long that it’s almost painful to stand straight and hold his sword and shield ahead of him.
He forces himself to ignore the discomfort in his spine to turn away from Wild. He goes to the edge of their hiding space, then pokes his head out slightly to see what he has to deal with.
The longer he looks, the more worried he gets.
It’s like an underground village of monsters, wooden and stone huts line the walls. There can’t be more than a dozen huts, but Hyrule can already see several monsters happily surrounding a bonfire in the center of the cavern as a giant slab of meat cooks over it.
The monsters he can make out immediately are those tiny moblins Wild has a surplus of. Boko-moblins or something. They’re red and blue to the skin-tone, except for one giant moblin whose hide is an inky black. There’s a couple lizalfos running around the area, mostly interested in kicking around rocks and bones to each other. Hyrule doesn’t understand how the two different kinds of monsters can get along so well together in the space. He can only guess that they both see each other as each other’s pets.
He doesn’t need to understand. It won’t help him fight them.
He closes his eyes and mentally reaches within himself, gaging just how much energy he has to pull off any spells.
Enough. He has enough to take out the weaker ones and leave the bigger ones for the real battle.
Okay. Okay he can do this.
He takes one final breath, then sneaks around the corner into the cavern as quietly as he can. He needs to catch the attention of as many of the little ones that he can, but he can’t catch their attention so close to where Wild lays undefended. The monsters can’t know he has an injured party member with him. They’ll tear Wild to shreds and Hyrule will be able to do nothing to stop it.
The walls are rough against his back, even through his thick tunic, as he shuffles further and further away from Wild. Once he finds himself a considerable distance away, he once again takes a deep breath.
Don’t cuckoo out now, Hyrule.
“Hey!” He shouts, bringing his sword and shield above his head and banging the two metal items together as loudly as he can.
Just like he predicted, it catches the immediate attention of the monsters closest to him, and if there’s any monsters he doesn’t see, they will surely be looking for what’s about to cause a massive commotion soon.
A lizalfos closer to him than the rest of the monsters squawks in interest, it’s tongue flickering between its lips before it’s charging at him. Hyrule repositions his sword and shield in front of him and blocks it’s charging blow with a small club. He grunts under the pressure of the blow, but the lizalfos quickly jumps away out of range before Hyrule can counter. Not that he wants to yet, he needs more weaker and reckless monsters to get closer. Thankfully the giant moblin is waiting by the campfire, shifting foot to foot as it’s smaller counterparts begin rushing over.
Hyrule jumps out of the way of a boko-moblin trying to make a running blow at him as well, and then blocks the blade of a rusty sword. He continues this way for seconds that feel like hours, until eventually he trips over his feet trying to dodge so many blood-thirsty creatures.
He can’t hold them all off anymore. Hopefully this is a good chunk of them.
He calls upon a warm feeling within himself, and it flows to his fingers like static. He has two powerful spells that can knock out massive amounts of enemies, but until now he’s had trouble deciding between the two.
Spell Spell would take up less energy, but it would leave a small army of practically harmless bots behind. The little creatures will be startled and confused, bouncing here and there and tripping Hyrule over his feet while he tries to fight the leftover monsters. There’s also the chance that the bots will accidentally stumble upon Wild. The creatures might be practically harmless, but practically harmless doesn’t mean completely. Especially if their target is already weak and injured.
No, Thunder Spell will have to do. It will take a lot out of him, especially considering he decided to forgo a full-night's rest to explore a seemingly harmless cave with Wild. He can probably use it only four times with the amount of magic he has left… but he needs his magic for other things too just in case things get dicey.
The static in his fingers sharpens to the tips of his appendages. He can smell the ozone in the cave rise, and apparently so can the monsters judging by their sharp chirps and snorts of confusion. Once the electricity in his fingers rises to an almost unbearable level—all taking a few moments to build—he raises his sword and allows the electricity to surge through it with the crack loud enough to burst eardrums. The lightning and thunder travels at untraceable speeds, zipping this way and that within Hyrule’s general area, bringing death with each bolt, until it eventually sizzles down and reveals several lumps of charred and dead monster corpses.
Hyrule can already feel his breath quicken to gasps because of the show of power, but he cannot rest now. The moblin looks especially upset now, holding a sword the height of Time and more while tromping towards him with several smaller monsters screeching behind.
Hyrule can only hope that’s the rest of them before he takes a better grasp of his sword and charges towards them with a battle cry.
He lets instinct take over. His instincts have always been more reliable than his own brain’s logic. He rolls under a powerful-yet-slow swing from the moblin's claymore and slashes at it’s legs. It snarls, jumping away to make distance. That distance is quickly filled with a boko-moblin, the red monster screeching and jumping at him like it thinks the single rock in it’s hand will do anything. Stupid creature of darkness…
He downs it easily enough, cutting through it’s stomach and spilling guts everywhere. He doesn’t have time to consider his victorious hit before he’s stumbling forward with a heavy weight on his back and clawed hands knotting into his hair. He’s incredibly lucky that the boko-moblin that got behind him without him noticing was an unarmed one.
He slashes his sword upwards, and gets a hit. He’s not positive that it was a killing blow, but it at least got the beast off his back just in time for him to bring up his shield to block an unavoidable heavy blow from the giant moblin.
He summons strength into his shield arm, casting his Shield Spell. He can feel the weight of the mighty blow vibrate through his arm, causing him to grind his teeth and dig his boots into the ground, but it’s only half as bad as it could have been. He can easily jump away from the giant moblin and take on a gutsy lizalfos that's swinging at him with the sharpened edge of a boomerang.
It continues like this for a while, Hyrule doing everything he can to keep track of each of his opponents while taking them down one by one. His biggest issue seems to be preparing for the smaller attacks that come the second the giant moblin backs off. It seems this is how these monsters have survived so long in such large numbers down here. They wait for the big one to scare the enemy, then attempt to overwhelm with their large numbers.
Adrenaline makes it hard to keep track of the time passing, nor of how many enemies he’s taken down. All he knows is that somehow, along the way, he’s forced to cast Reflect Spell to stop a flying boomerang from taking off his head and Fire Spell to give him extra attack power as more and more monsters crowd around him.
Of course, it was going to go wrong eventually. A lucky hit is always destined to land. And while Hyrule still has his Shield Spell up, a sword slashing through his side is still a sword slashing through his side. The cut may not be half as deep as it could have been, it still causes his nerves to scream out in shock. It seems to all go downhill from there, with him just managing to stumble out of the way of another attack just to run into the attack of another creature.
He’s panting, having used up so much energy already to the point he can’t cast Thunder Spell again even if he wanted to. All he can do is continue to block, dodge, and try to make attacks when it seems more and more monsters form a sea before him.
Or perhaps he’s so tired he’s beginning to see doubles.
He slashes a few more, wheezing for breath, then shoots fire at a lizalfos before it can jump at him with it’s weapon. The giant moblin tries to kick at him, but he jumps between its legs and slashes at it once again, only making a fraction of the damage he was hoping to make.
Then, a boko-moblin finally gets a decent blow on him. Stars erupt before his eyes as a heavy wooden club smashes across his skull, bringing him stumbling to the floor with nausea rising to his throat. The pesky monster howls in enjoyment as it jumps onto his back and sends him crashing to the floor. His shield flies out of his hands, dispelling both Reflect Spell and Shield Spell, and making his only defense through his woozy vision be his blade as he brings it up to block another blow, the tips of his fingers begin to bleed as he grabs the other end of his sword with his other hand.
He throws the boko-moblin off from him, forcing himself to ignore the pain long enough to scramble to his feet and back away from his enemies. Unfortunately, his back hits the wall, and the monsters squeal in delight at the sight of their cornered prey.
He wills his heart to stop pounding so loudly, it makes it hard to focus. His head feels like a drum, making his vision and hearing compromised to be blurry, muffled messes. He can only be thankful that his adrenaline is still high enough for his various wounds to go unnoticed, because he’s sure that the second he calms down he won't be getting back up. He can feel heat dripping down from his side down onto his legs.
A stalemate commences; the monsters joyfully trying to figure out the best way to take Hyrule out and Hyrule doing his best just to count how many are left. He wills himself to see through his spinning vision, eventually settling on four or five monsters left including the giant moblin.
He doesn’t have much magic left… but he’s so close to getting out of this.
It’s not good to push his magic, but he doesn’t have any choice. He can cast an incomplete Life Spell, which would hopefully fix the worst of his injuries and give him just enough strength to finish this.
That’s what he does the second a boko-moblin gets impatient and runs at him.
Immediately, his head clears just a bit and his strength returns just as much. He can feel exhaustion pulling at his subconscious like a loop of thread slowly being tightened, but he ignores the pressure, slicing the boko-moblin’s head clean off it’s neck.
Three. He’s lucky. There were four monsters left, and with that there’s now three.
Full out battle erupts once again, with pissed monsters who thought they won and a Hyrule who’s desperate to win before he passes out. He forces his mind to become calm, his breath to remain even, his arms to stay strong, and his doubts to keep quiet.
It’s like a blur, filled with nothing but the reek of monster blood and the screaming. His screaming. The monster’s screaming.
Eventually, he plunges his sword up into the giant moblin’s gut, cutting through its abdomen and up into it’s ribcage. The beast howls its final breath, then topples to the ground, ripping Hyrule’s lodged sword out of his hands.
Terrified at being weaponless, he jumps towards the nearest bloodied boomerang that’s left discarded on the floor then rolls into the best defensive position he can manage in his crazed state.
Nothing attacks him. He blinks. Nothing stands.
He drops the boomerang and releases his breath like he hasn’t done so in years.
He’s… he’s won.
He’s killed dozens of monsters… all on his own… all to protect his friend.
He struggles up to his feet, pain slowly leaking into his very bones. He’s not sure how injured he is, and he can feel magic-exhaustion setting in. He limps to his shield and replaces it onto his back. He then makes his way towards the toppled giant moblin and yanks out his sword. It makes a sickening sound, and it takes more strength than he thinks he has, but he cannot stop now. He places his sword into the scabbard at his hip, then limps over to where he’s left Wild.
His friend is exactly where Hyrule left him: pale, bleeding at the head, laying against the cave wall unconscious, right next to his still burning magic candle.
He doesn’t let himself stop to catch his breath or will his vision to quit it with the spinning again. He just focuses on his breath and grabs Wild’s arm, grunting as he once again gets Wild’s body onto his back. His fingers leave bloody prints on Wild’s sleeves as he gets a good one-handed grasp on him before using his other hand to grab the candle.
Then, he moves. One step at a time. He can feel the agony rising, but he counts his steps and continues forward towards the biggest tunnel leading into the cavern. It goes up, and up, and up, leaving Hyrule wheezing and almost tripping over his feet. However, eventually his eyes sting with the moonlight that suddenly seems too bright. Tears drip from his eyes as he exits the cave, finally tasting fresh air.
Then, he trips over a root and falls onto the ground, his energy completely gone.
His head… it’s pounding… he can barely move anymore, let alone stand up and continue. All he can do is shift to where Wild fell off of him and lay his battered body over his friend as his eyes begin to close against his will.
He will protect Wild, even while unconscious.
As his vision darkens and awareness leaves him, he catches the sound of his and Wild’s name being shouted nearby, and the sounds of heavy and fast paws traveling through under-bush. The others are looking for them, and he’s sure Wolfie is searching too.
He breathes a sigh of relief and finally rests, knowing the rest of his friends will find them and take care of them.
Heehoo here’s the first prompt for whumptober! This is the first year I’m determined to complete it on time by posting every day so here’s the beginning of the attempt. Anyway!
Alt prompt #6: Head Injury
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
TW: vomiting, mentions of vomit
Word count: 2591
“-idge! Pidge, come on! Answer me!”
“K… Keith?” Pidge opened her eyes, squinting at the shadow above her.
“Thank god, Pidgey, I was… I’m glad you’re okay.”
“What happened?” Keith pushed her down by the shoulders as she tried to sit up.
“Green got hit, bad. You crashed on this moon and we couldn’t reach your comms.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Finishing off the Galra. It took us a while to spread them thin enough that I could come down here.”
While recapping the events, Keith had been checking over Pidge thoroughly for any injuries, and he seemed content. “Okay. Let’s go. The others are surely done and waiting for us. Can you get Green back on?”
Pidge got up with Keith’s help. She stumbled into him once on her feet.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Just got up too fast, just a tick.” Pidge used Keith as a support as the blood rushed to her head, trying to find her footing and balance. It took a bit longer than she thought it should, but eventually, she got her bearings and sat in the cockpit chair. “Go ahead and go back to Red, Keith, I’ll get her up and running. Then I’ll meet you guys at the castle.”
“I don’t want to leave you here, that was a really rough crash. And not only that, you were thrown from your chair and were on the floor. Outwards, your body looks fine, but I don’t want to leave you alone until we’re sure everything is fine internally.”
“Keith, I feel fine. I was a little dizzy when I stood up but I had been on the floor for… I don’t know how long, you know better than me, but whatever! I’m fine!”
Keith’s face was still brushed over with concern.
Pidge sighed. “If you’re really that worried, once we get back to the castle we can do a full scan and if needs be, I’ll go into a pod.”
Keith sighed as well, ready to resign his worries. “Fine, but if anything feels off, you need to tell me as soon as you can. Here’s a communicator if Green won’t wake up.” He handed it to her. “Let me know if something feels wrong, with Green or with you.”
“Okay, whatever you say, Keith.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you later.” He waved and ducked out of the cockpit. Pidge saw him running to Red from the windshield. She sat in the pilot’s chair and groaned. Her head killed. Her stomach rolled. She still felt dizzy.
She tried to shake off the feeling to connect with Green, and Green woke up.
“Hey, girl.”
The lion groaned as it stood, sounding much like Pidge felt.
“Okay, we got hit and crashed hard, but we’re fine now. We need to get back to the team to help.”
Green seemed to say, You aren’t well, paladin.
“I’m just as well as you. Banged up but functional.”
You’re worse off then me. You have a fragile body.
“Your mom.”
Green went silent, knowing Pidge wouldn’t listen.
Pidge steered Green to where they could safely take off without damaging the surrounding ecosystem and off they went. Once in the atmosphere, Pidge grabbed the little communicator. “Paladins of Voltron, this is the Green Paladin and her lion.” The sound of her own voice echoed in her ears loudly.
“I hear you, Pidge,” Keith said. “We’re still fighting, and the others don’t have this communicator frequency. We could really use your help right now.”
“I’m not sure if Green is up to it.” She was lying through her teeth. Green seemed fine if not a little banged up. It was her who wasn’t up to it.
“Then stay still, we don’t want the Galra to see you and target you when you can’t dodge or counterattack.”
“No, I want to help! Green is just banged up and can take all the time she needs to recover in the hangar of the castle. I’m on my way.”
Pidge could hear Keith sigh over the comms. “Okay, but be careful. Don’t get hit again.” Static crackled and Pidge knew she was alone again.
Her vision blurred as she looked up to see where her friends were fighting. There were blurs of pink and blue lights, coming from the Galra and from the Lions. She was too far away to see any of her friends clearly, just the lights from the blasts. And assorted explosions.
For once, Pidge was grateful that space was a vacuum, because if she had been able to hear those explosions, her head probably would’ve exploded itself.
Slowly, she crept up on the battle, trying to figure out where she could possibly go in to help. “Hey, Green, activate the reflective shield.” Invisible, she got even closer.
Her comms crackled to life.
“-m on the left, someone get-” That was Lance.
“-eith, where’s Pidge?! We need to for-” Shiro.
“She said she was coming! I don’t know-” Keith.
Hunk seemed to be quiet but active. Coran and Allura were shouting affirmations for everyone from the castle.
And Pidge was sitting here doing nothing. The yells from the comms were louder than they had been earlier, but that was probably just from the little “time-out” she had on that moon.
“All right,” she said to herself. Then she shot Green forward to the middle of the battle and joined all the chaos on the comms.
The whole team was still yelling, but this time more excited that they had a chance to win this now that they could form Voltron.
The lights were closer now, brighter than before.
Every explosion shook Green, and Pidge inside.
For a minute, everything was quiet and dark.
Pidge gagged and vomited.
It wouldn’t stop, she was so dizzy and everything was so loud and she couldn’t stop moving and her head- oh god her head—
She coughed and heaved and she couldn’t breathe and it wouldn’t stop it wouldn’t stop it wouldn’t stop it—
And then it stopped.
But Pidge didn’t know that.
~~~
Keith tuned out everyone’s voices. They were all saying generally the same thing. ‘Pidge, are you okay,’ ‘Pidge, are you there,’ ‘what’s going on,’ ‘is she okay,’ all the same stuff.
I shouldn’t have left her alone, he thought. I should’ve known that she was lying, of course she would, she never wants to feel helpless.
“Keith!” Shiro yelled through the comms. “It doesn’t matter what you should’ve done, stay focused!”
Was he saying that out loud?
“Yes, sorry.” He glanced again at the Green Lion, eyes glowing and standing in ready position, but not moving at all. No pilot to control it.
“If Pidge is incapacitated, we can’t form Voltron! We need to defend her and beat the Galra,” Lance said. “We can’t separate more than we already have, and we can’t run.”
“I’ll go protect Pidge, my lion can take blasts meant for her until we can overpower them,” Hunk said.
“You can’t take them for long, it would be easier to just get done with the Galra.” Shiro sounded exhausted and worried, reasonably.
The team was still trying to plan amongst themselves when Allura bursted into the comms.
“Everyone, get out of the way, and take Pidge with you!”
The Paladins and their Lions quickly left where they were surrounding the Galra ship, and Keith and Red shoved Green out of the proximity.
A huge blue blast came from the castle and hit dead on the Galra ship.
There was nothing left of it.
A collective sigh of relief made it’s way through the team, and then Lance said, “Why didn’t you do that earlier?!”
Allura moaned at his lack of logic. “It took time to charge up to be that powerful, Lance, and with us helping with the smaller shots from the turrets, it took much longer than it could’ve. Be glad it worked at all before anyone got hurt.”
“Thank you, Allura, Coran,” Shiro said. “Let’s get back.”
It was quiet while everyone was taking a couple breaths, finally done with the battle.
“We can’t take more time, guys,” Keith said. “Pidge… Pidge was definitely worse than she let on to me. I’ve got Green, but Red isn’t strong enough by herself to push Green to the Castle.”
The Yellow Lion showed up at the Red Lion’s side, then Blue too. Together, they pushed Green as fast as they could to the Castle.
~~~
Everyone met in Green’s hangar.
“Green, you have to let us in!” Lance was a bit frantic. “We get you’re trying to protect her but we can protect her too, and you probably don’t have the tools to help her if she’s hurt!”
Lance kept pleading with the Lion while the others stood by, worried about their youngest family member. Allura walked to the Lion and put her hand on its leg.
“Please, Green Lion, I can’t lose another Paladin. Please let us in to help Pidge.”
The Lion didn’t answer.
Allura turned to the Paladins and Coran. “If the Lion won’t open… there’s only one explanation.” Her voice broke and tears welled up as she tried to blink them back. “The Green Lion is waiting for a new Paladin to take Pidge’s place because she’s—”
Everyone finished that sentence in their minds.
Coran started working on something to open the Lion in the corner. Lance kept begging, Allura quietly started to cry. Hunk tried to put on a brave face, but his eyes were watering too. Shiro paced.
Keith couldn’t believe it.
Pidge was like a little sister to him. A best friend. She managed to get him to open up when he wouldn’t talk to anyone else. He trusted her with all his heart. If she had said she was fine, she was fine, not…
Not dead.
He’d had enough.
“OPEN UP YOU STUPID LION!!! YOU CAN’T KEEP HER!! SHE’S OURS, SHE’S HUMAN LIKE US, NOT A STUPID ROBOT LIKE YOU ARE AND YOU NEED TO GIVE HER BACK!!! PIDGE IS OUR FRIEND, AND EVEN IF SHE’S YOURS TOO, SHE WAS OURS FIRST! SO LET HER OUT OR LET US IN!!!!!”
Everyone went silent at Keith’s outburst.
“Keith, it’s okay. We’ll get in soon enough.”
“No, it’s not okay!! She was hurt, and I thought she wasn’t, and if she’s still alive, I doubt she will be for much longer! We need to help Pidge now!”
Tears were falling down Keith’s face, along with some snot down his nose.
A thud echoed through the room.
Green’s maw was opened wide.
~~~
Keith was first to reach the cockpit. He turned the pilot chair toward him and saw Pidge. She was quiet, still wearing her suit, but not her helmet. She hadn’t had it on when Keith had first gone to check on her and Green when they first crashed. Had it come off in the crash or was she just not wearing it? And then why didn’t she put it on again.
There was puke all over the front of her suit. A goose egg showed through her bangs. Pidge didn’t have any good tanning abilities, but she was paler than usual. Keith knelt in front of her and pulled off the pieces of her Paladin suit after unbuckling her.
“Pidge?” His voice shook.
She didn’t respond.
Keith put his hand under her mouth and for a few terrible seconds, nothing happened, but then he felt warmth cover his hand as she exhaled.
Breathing. That’s good.
He checked her over for injuries, just like he had done a couple hours earlier, but slower and more carefully.
Nothing seems to be broken.
Then he got to the back of her head.
It was warm and wet.
“Shit.”
Gently, he let her body flop over him. He saw her flight suit stained red all down her back and her hair matted near the base of her neck.
No wonder she was off balance and dizzy. If she had hit her head bad enough to bleed, surely she had a concussion, at best.
Keith picked her up so her arms were over his shoulders and he had grip on her legs. He made sure the back of her head wasn’t going to hit his chin or anything else and carried her out of the Lion.
Allura, Coran and the Paladins stood waiting as he walked out. The room held its breath.
“She’s alive,” Keith said.
It let out the breath.
“But she really needs a pod, like immediately. She must’ve hit her head without her helmet when she crashed. I missed it when I checked her over the first time. She’s bleeding.”
The room then went kind of crazy. Shiro grabbed Pidge from Keith (with his permission [he has attachment issues]) and ran to the infirmary with Coran. Hunk walked over to Keith and talked to him. Lance paced and Allura sat near Keith to support.
Eventually, they all sat in the common bay with each other. Hunk got up and made some food for everyone and they all ate together in silence.
~~~
A few days passed and the whole team had sort of gotten back into a routine of checking on everything. Checking for Galra outposts on planets that needed help, checking in with the Blades of Marmora, checking on Pidge, checking on the Lions, et cetera.
Almost a week later was when the pod opened. It was the middle of the night and Pidge walked out to discover she was alone.
“Guys?” She was bewildered. The last thing she knew was crashing to the moon that was near their battle with the Galra. “Hunk? Allura?” She walked around the castle in the pod suit. “Guys, hello?”
Making her way around the entire Castle, Pidge made it to the common bay and sat down on the couch and she felt a lump underneath her.
“Ow, Lance, get off. No one else has a butt that bony.”
“Keith?”
“I said get off.”
“Keith! What happened?”
Keith finally seemed to wake up and he flipped the blanked off his head. “Pidge??”
“What happened? And why are you sleeping on the couch?”
Keith stood up, throwing Pidge to the floor, and then jumped on her and gave her a hug. “Pidge!”
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s your deal?”
“It’s been about a week.”
“Since what?”
“Since you crashed.”
Pidge’s demeanor changed and she got off the floor. “A week? All I remember was being on my way down to that moon. That’s it.”
“Oh, Pidgey. You hit your head really bad when you crashed. When I got to you, you were unconscious and thrown from your seat. You woke up and complained about dizziness but you got Green up and came to help but then something happened and you were out, unable to control your Lion. We won and brought Green back to the hangar but she wouldn’t open, so Allura assumed you were…”
Pidge’s hands shook as she reached to Keith. “I’m not though.” She smiled.
“You don’t know how glad I am for that,” he said, laughing.
They hugged again, Pidge pulling Keith tight. “Thanks for protecting me.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay. I can’t imagine losing a little sister, especially since you’re my only one.”
“Too bad you aren’t my only big brother. I could have a favorite that isn’t you.”
Keith pushed her off him so she could see his pout.
Pidge laughed. “Just kidding. I already know my favorite is Hunk.”
Keith was about to protest but then nodded. “His food though.”
Lost of course has more than one definition, and I chose to use the definition "the past tense of lose".
Direct sequel to 20: Trembling, so this’ll make more sense if you read that one first. Also fulfills a @badthingshappenbingo square, which is linked at the end. And it marks me my first bingo for that card, woohoo! (Still MCU / Doctor Strange, with some comic lore popping in). No particular warnings, other than that the narrator is still a dick.
22. Alt #6: Lost
The look on Strange's face when I brought him to his doctor friend was one I will cherish for a long time to come. She was still asleep (I really didn't want her interrupting this moment) and I gave him the opportunity to check her pulse— can't beat the doctor out of him, can you?
Well, I could try. That's a thought.
He turned back to me and hoo boy, if looks could kill, I'd be seared in my own hellfires. It only served to amuse me further. "You say you want nothing with Doctor Palmer, Mephisto," he started. "What do you want?"
I tilted my head. "Your soul would be nice," I suggested once more.
His lips tightened. "As my colleague already said, it is skewed trade. A mortal lifespan is but a blink of an eye for an entity such as yourself." A mask had settled across his face, but how he tried to block the woman from sight showed where his heart lay. How precious.
I began to pace around this newly fledged Sorcerer Supreme and his lady friend, watching in amusement as he turned his body to keep facing me. I stopped when the woman was in between us. "Yes, but in that short time before her body gives up on her, I could have such fun. It's been some time since I've had anyone to play games with." I paused, then added, "Anyone with both a soul and body. Quite the treat."
"What sort of games?" Strange asked. Good.
"Any sort of game," I answered, shrugging. "Poker. Cornhole. Could play with a Ouija board; I'm sure she'd love the variety of souls here."
As expected, the answer completely threw him off-guard. "Seriously?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" I drew her sleeping form closer to me; I could see how much effort it took him not to reach out and stop me. He knew the rules of engaging with demons, naturally, but it was eating him from the inside. It was great. "She's a doctor, so she should be smart enough to make a competent opponent in all sorts of games. Don't you worry, Doctor Strange; she'll have good fun here. And there'll be plenty of souls to keep her company."
His eyes hardened for a moment before he managed to regain some equilibrium. "If what you seek is a competent opponent," he started, "take me."
I raised my brow at him. "You're more than welcome to join the games, Doctor."
"No," he retorted, "take me instead. I will take her place in your games if you allow her to go back to the mortal plane unharmed."
I pretended to think about it, frowning thoughtfully at the proposal. "I suppose you'll last longer. When was it that humans died without water? An Earth week?"
He frowned. "Three Earth days. But there are noticeable problems during day two."
Three Earth days, seriously? That was really pathetic. I made a point to look him up and down as if thinking the proposition over. "Take her place in my games for an Earth day— or up to it. I might decide to cut it short, I don't know. And in return, I'll accept your bargain and let her go back to your quaint little dimension, right where I found her. She will wake within two of your hours."
"Where did you find her?" Strange asked. Not an idiot, this one; that fact will make the next few Earth hours most enjoyable.
"Her apartment," I said, waving my hand dismissively. I stepped closer to him. "So, do we have a bargain?" I held out my hand.
Strange stared at my hand for a brief moment of hesitation, and then finally, finally, he took it.
I let out a low smile. How he played throughout the following hours didn't matter; Doctor Strange had already lost.
————
((Yes, Doctor Palmer was demoted to a plot device in this story, but demons are rude like that- they turn people into plot devices and bait for their bigger fish. Blame the demonic entity.))
(Trying to get back in to writing by catching up with the Whumptober Challengefor @whumptober2019!)
Alternate Prompt used today!
Day Eighteen - Lost
Clint crouched silently on the rock protruding part way out into the river. He watched the rapids carefully, eyeing the fish that swam by. Finally, he struck out with the sharpened bamboo stick he had fashions, spearing one of the fish swimming by. He studied it for a moment, turning it on the stick. It looked healthy enough. He pinched the tail of this fish with the one he had speared just a few minutes ago and then stood, carefully hopping from rock to rock in order to make it back to shore.
He grabbed the long stick he had left leaning up against a tree on the shore before he started back through the jungle. He used the stick to probed the underbrush before he walked through it, hoping to scare away any venomous snakes or spiders as he headed back to camp.
The camp was set up in a small clearing just a few minutes away from the scream. He glanced around to make sure nothing had changed, relieved that everything was just how he had left it. He headed for the small fire that was still burning. He still had the bamboo sticks from the night before, cut down the middle to create a kind of prong that the fish could fit horizontally into. Once both fish were in place, he just had to lay them across the horizontal sticks he had built over the fire and the fish began to cook.
With a decent breakfast underway, Clint turned to the next order of business. He went around the area to check the traps he had set up with sticks, vines and leaves in order to catch any water or dew that he could. He frowned as he found each trap to only have a little bit of water in each. Not exactly what he had been hoping for. Working very carefully, he consolidated all the water into one leap that he cupped to hold the several small gulps he had managed to gather.
“I thought this was supposed to be the damn rainforest,” he grumbled to himself. He took a couple small sips and then headed for the lean-to that he had built on one side of the small clearing and ducked inside. “Up and at ‘em, sunshine.”
Initially, there was no movement from Natasha. She lay curled on her side with her back to him, just as he had left her before he had gone for food. Clint knelt next to her, reaching over and putting a careful hand on her shoulder, feeling the heat of the fever radiating off of her. Under normal circumstances, the touch would have brought her lurching back to consciousness, but today it elicited little more than a small flinch.
“C’mon, Nat,” he said lowly but firmly, a small note of pleading in his voice. “You gotta get up. I’ve got breakfast almost ready.”
Finally, Natasha shifted her head to look blearily at him over her shoulder. “‘M tired,” she rasped.
“I know,” Clint said sympathetically. “But you’ve got to drink and eat something. Please, Nat?” She let her head fall back down to its original position, and Clint sighed heavily. “Can you at least sit up some and drink a little water?” He was already reaching over with one hand and gently pulling her onto her back.
She thankfully didn’t resist. Instead, she blinked around warily with eyes clouded by fever. “Where are we?”
“Taking a little vacation in the Amazon rainforest,” Clint said, his voice strained. It was a question that she was asking more and more often, and that certainly wasn’t a good sign. “C’mon, Tasha, I need you to drink something, okay?”
He threaded a hand under her shoulders and used it to leverage her up as gently as he could. She groaned and grimaced at the action, causing Clint’s heart to twist. He hated causing her more pain. He brought the leaf to her lips as she seemed to come back to herself a bit as the water hit her lips, drinking greedily until the leaf was empty. Clint sighed in relief as he discarded the leaf and then carefully helped her sit up more, leaning her up against the tree the lean-to was built into.
“Did you get some?” she asked suddenly, her voice small and childlike.
Clint looked at her in confusion, but saw that she wasn’t looking at him. He followed her gaze to the water leaf he had discarded.
“Yeah, I drank some before I came in here,” Clint assured her, ignoring the lightheaded feeling that was starting to set in. It wasn’t a lie. He had enough to keep him going and Natasha needed it more than he did right now. The air inside the lean-to clung to him thickly, already drawing sweat despite the fact that the sun was barely up yet. “How about we go outside? You’ll get a little more air out there.”
Natasha mumbled something that Clint couldn’t make out, her eyelids sagging as unconsciousness was already pulling at her. Clint sighed, threading one arm behind her shoulder and the own scooping under her legs, lifting her and ducking out of the shelter. There was a small whine of protest, but other than that she didn’t react much.
Clint didn’t move her far, instead he just leaned her up against the adjacent side of the tree the shelter was built into. As he settled her back down, his eyes strayed to the bandages packed into her side. The bullet wound actually hadn’t initially been terrible, all things considered. It hadn’t been too much more than a deep crease. Clint had cleaned it and bandaged it as best as he could the first chance they had gotten, but despite the efforts, after three days of wandering through the jungle, it had become painfully apparent that infection was starting to get the best of her.
Those initial signs of infection had appeared five days ago. There wasn’t much that Clint was able to do for it and that fact was gut wrenching. His survival skills were excellent and he could likely live like this for weeks, maybe even months if he had to.
But Natasha was quickly running out of time.
“Feel up to eating something?” Clint asked. It wasn’t much, but it was something that he could do. He wasn’t surprised when there wasn’t an answer.
Clint went to work skinning and carving up the fish with his combat knife. With some coaxing he was able to get her to eat a fair few bites and she even managed to keep it down this time, unlike the night before. That was something at least.
“Okay, I know you’re got gonna like this,” Clint said after stomping out the fire and crouching down next to Natasha. “But we’ve gotta move on.”
Natasha sighed, her head drifting heavily on her shoulders as she blinked dully. “‘M tired.”
“I know,” Clint said softly. “But we’ve gotta keep moving.”
He hated to do it, but if the rescue team -- that may or may not be actually looking for them and may or may not be searching the right area -- didn’t find him, their next best chance at surviving this was to find some kind of civilization. And the only way to do that was to cover some ground while they could.
They didn’t have much in the way of supplies left, so it didn’t take Clint long to pack it up. He had his combat knife and his bow, but had long ago run out of arrows. He had a couple sharpened bamboo sticks in his quiver, but they wouldn’t work great with their lack of weight. He had Natasha’s sidearm, but it was out of ammo.
Once he had all that together, he went back to Natasha, who had drifted off. Gently he shook her awake again, earning low groans in protest.
“Please, Nat,” he implored. “I need you to try to walk. Just a little, okay?”
Of course he could carry her, but he couldn’t keep that up forever. Also, to be honest, he was starting to wear down as well. While he wasn’t nearly as bad off as Natasha, he could feel himself waning day by day. And if he was honest with himself, judging by his numerous mosquito bites, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was starting to come down with malaria.
Clint pulled Natasha’s arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, here we go. One, two, three.” Natasha yelped as Clint lifted her and his chest clenched in sympathy. “Okay, we’ve just going to walk a little bit. You can do that, right? Right?” He squeezed Natasha encouragingly.
“Jus’ a little bit?” Natasha mumbled.
“Yeah, just a little bit,” Clint assured her. Her legs moved stiffly and most of her weight was still on Clint, but it was better than nothing. He grabbed a long stick in his free hand in order to probe the undergrowth, and then they were off.
“Where are we?”
“Where would you like to be?” Clint asked. “What’s your favorite place in the world Tasha?”
“Hm,” Natasha hummed. Her head started to fall.
“Hey,” Clint said, shaking her slightly. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be? Your favorite place in the world.”
“New ‘Ealand.”
“New Zealand?” Clint said, arching an eyebrow in surprise. “Where in New Zealand?”
“Fiord’nd.”
Clint had to think for a minute because he could translate. “Fiordland? I don’t think I’ve ever been. I think we should go. What do you think?”
“Hm.”
“Nat? What do you think?”
“Where are we?”
Clint sighed. “We’re heading for Fiordland, obviously. Just a little bit farther.”
“You sure?”
“Yep, very sure. Just keep walking okay? One foot in front of the other.”
Clint tried to keep her talking, but the longer they walked, the more difficult it became. Eventually, he started to feel like he was just being cruel, dragging her around this jungle when it was very likely that they weren’t going to get out of here.
And just as he had the thought, a jet screamed by overhead. He was so shocked that almost let Natasha fall. His eyes went frantically to the sky. Was it possible…?
As quickly as he could he set Natasha down against a nearby tree and tore the bow off of his back, nocking one of his bamboo sticks and firing it straight up into the air, through a small gap in the canopy. Then he fired another… and another… and another. It was a laughably small attempt at a flare, but it was all he could do.
When he ran out of bamboo, he just stood as stared up, holding his breath. For a long time, it seemed that the hum of the jet was getting further away. But then… was it closer? Or was that just wishful thinking?
And then, finally, through the gap in canopy he saw the jet as it hovered over them. His gaze narrowed in on the SHIELD insignia on the bottom of the Quinjet.
They weren’t talking to him. He didn’t understand what was wrong. Lucretia kept eyeing him. They all did really. Taako was the least... weird towards him.
But then Taako was far more concerned with his sister.
Everything was moving too fast. The rest of the crew rushed around Lup, in and out of the room, checking on her, eyeing him. Taako sat with her, though. Held her hand. And together they waited.
There were others, people that he recognized. He could feel them approach, feel their interest. But his sole concern was Lup.
He stood, a silent and steady rock, by the opening he’d come through that was now just a wall again.
After an amount of time he had no measure for, one of those familiar people approached him. Everyone else was gone at the moment. Only Lup and this woman were in the room with him.
He could feel her name in his mouth and so he spoke it.
The woman startled, eyes wide and mouth open.
Carefully, her mouth formed his name in response. Had anyone said his name since he’d brought Lup? He didn’t think so. His name felt dusty and unused. He nodded his thanks for being acknowledged.
She looked over her shoulder at Lup and then back at him.
“She’s lost,” the woman told him. “She’s lost in her pain and in the magic and maybe still somewhere down under the dirt and rocks. But I think you can find her. I think you can bring her home.”
He didn’t respond in words. Instead he simply grasped his magic instinctively. He understood.
Before he could throw himself into that maelstrom of magic churning under the surface, the woman stopped him.
“If you - when - when you find her? Can you come back and help us? The world needs you,” she said. And then she spoke his name once more.
Hearing it was like a tuning fork resounding through him.
“Yes.”
The word was thick and binding in his mouth. Some piece of him, buried deep inside, resented making the promise. Bringing Lup back might take more than this woman understood. Barry Bluejeans was ready to burn everything up to save Lup, to bring her back.
But he couldn’t allow that.
He dove into the magic.
---
It was like plunging into an icy lake.
He went deeper. There were shining threads twisting and curling through the depths. He followed them, knowing they would lead to Lup.
He’d used them, after all, to stitch her back together after he found her before.
Which meant it was his fault she was trapped here now.
He swam through the darkness, chasing the end of the silvery lines down into the depths.
They stretched on and on, tangled and fraying in places.
After a time, he called to her.
“Lup!”
The threads seemed to pulse with light, a flicker that raced down the length of them. He followed.
It was like his journey through the rock tunnel. Time lost all meaning. All he knew was that Lup was somewhere ahead of him and behind him was only darkness and nothingness.
He continued on. The world above or outside or wherever it was, became nothing more than a distant memory. The life Barry Bluejeans lead long ago on a planet under a purple sky with two suns was only a rumor.
Finally, finally, finally.
There she was.
Ahead of him, she floated in the darkness, drifted.
She looked like she was asleep. The threads he had followed, threads that spun off into the distance everywhere, were gathered around her like a glowing gown. They surrounded her, cocooned her.
He moved forward, scared to disturb her, hesitant to return her to the pain and hurt he was trying to cushion her from. But she couldn’t remain here, either.
Carefully he began pulling them loose. She stirred. He was encouraged and began yanking at them, ripping the threads away, freeing her from their grasp. There were thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions. Still he worked tirelessly, stripping the threads of their claim on her. And then she was revealed: Her tattered leggings. Her bloodstained shirt. Her hair wild and barely contained in her braid. Her hands covered in blood. And her face, bruised and exhausted.
She opened her eyes.
He reached for her, took her hands, and began swimming up, hauling her with him.
Something was slowing them.
He looked back. The threads didn’t want to let her go. They’d begun gathering again, catching themselves around her.
He pulled, shouted, refused to let her go, refused to let her sink back down into the darkness.
They fought him now, burning him when he tried to break them. They whipped at him. Stung. None of it mattered. He had to get her back, back to Taako, back to her family, back home.
Lup tried to help but he could tell her energy was gone. So he fought. He howled, there in the darkness.
And this time when he freed her, he flew up with her cradled in his arms.
The surface seemed ages away. The threads were gathering again. Robbed of access to her, they tried to gather on him instead.
As more of them gathered they were slowing him, then stopping him, then pulling him down.
He kicked and fought and refused.
There was a choice to make.
Except, for Barry Bluejeans, it was never a choice. He launched himself down, pushing her up as he did. If the threads went after him, she’d be safe, she could make it out.
He could feel her protest as she realized his intent.
They were drifting, drifting slowly, bobbing over the waves, each rise bringing a new wave of rolling nausea and each fall an uncomfortable throb in the collective headache.
They had drunk all the water, the six bottles between them, and it had been days, and they were still drifting.
Silence was hardly palpable, not with the constant sloshing of water all around them and their own breathing, but they missed the land, and its sounds. They missed the animals, the birds, the sound of cars lazily rolling by. Children and dogs, machinery and chatter.
Now there was just water.
Water, everywhere, miles of it, endless and eternal. Water forever, water for always, just them and their little orange liferaft and each other.
They were huddled together, wrapped under blankets, thankful beyond belief for the tent-like roof over their heads. Logan had set up the roof as a raincatcher, but it hadn't rained, and it wouldn't rain, and so here there sat, with all the will for change but none of the means.
They told each other stories. Stories of when they were still at school, of their lives now, of things they had read or written or heard, anything to pass the time as the time wore on. At least, they hoped it did. It was hard to tell when every day was the same—just them, and the water, and the cold.
Drifting, drifting, drifting. In and out of sleep, here and there, hoping they'd wake up to the sound of a seagull or the grinding of their raft against shallow sand.
Bobbing slowly, meandering, as if undecided which way to go.
