FIELD CARE 101 | Peter Parker | MCU | Whumptober 2021
Day 17: “Please don’t move”
“Please don’t move.”
Those were the words Peter had said to (Y/N) Stark as he tried to locate Mr Stark, her father, on the battle field. They had been battling some mid-range villain, nothing that the trio hadn’t taken down before, when her suit failed and she fell from the sky.
He had managed to catches her but her body jolted hard, she most likely have had suffered some internal bleeding at best. Peter needed help and Karen has suggested getting her father.
(Y/N) had smiled and nodded at her boyfriend, watching as he kissed her hand before darting off. She knew it was bad, she had been hurt before but the pain was so bad she could barely feel it. It was the adrenaline that helped at the moment but she knew that she couldn’t make it out her here fully functional. But it was strange, she knew she couldn't feel her legs but she couldn't bring herself to panic over it
The blood in her mouth was a a brutal reminder of her state, she had to just keep hoping that Peter would find her dad in time so she could make it back to the compound to get medical treatment. She had hoped that she wasn't going to die.
As the minutes passed by, (Y/N) felt a sense of dread wash over her, Peter wasn't coming back anytime soon, she could still hear him yelling for her father over the comm system with no response. The superhero life, as her father had once called it, was brutal and the knowledge of dying young hadn't scared her initially but no as she looked death in his icy cold eyes, she wished she had made a different choice in careers.
"Peter," she weakly called through the comms, and the feeling in her spine grew sparse "You won't find him."
"I have too," he said back, urgency laced in his voice. He was panicking, Peter always panicked when it came to his girlfriend. (Y/N) was the best thing that had happened to him in a while, and he wasn't ready to lose her, not now, not ever.
(Y/N) coughed into her hand and saw blood. Her time was short "It's too late. Peter please."
"No. If I find Mr Stark then he can help you."
"Peter," she began to say before her voice dropped off.
"(Y/N)? (Y/N)? Please, please respond." Peter begged, "This isn't funny, say something. Please!"
But (Y/N) never responded.
It was a few hours after they got her body back to the compound did they learn her lung had been pieced by a broken rib when the force of Peter catching her had cause a lot of internal damage.
Stark didn't blame the kid; Peter almost wished he did because he blamed himself. He was not ready to lose her, and he had lost her and now all he could feel was dread: if he couldn't save his love how could he save anyone else
“Please, don’t move.” A pleads under their breath as B crumples to the floor.
The fight had been brutal, and the second B got knocked down and out, A prayed that they didn’t move. There was one rule about this place; if you could move, you could fight. The opposing brute stomped forward and thrust its club into B’s ribs.
Nothing.
It snorted and moved away, allowing guards to swoop in and drag B across the sand. Tracks of blood etched a map back to their cell, and B was dumped at A’s feet, bleeding and unconscious, but alive.
“Don’t move…” a utters once more, kneeling over them to check for any serious injury as a result of the fight.
Back in the arena, another battle had already begun.
A fist the size of a house smashed down inches from where Nero stood.
“When you can punch out half the neighborhood, how do you still manage to miss your target?” he asked the demon, eyeing the fist, unimpressed.
“Foolish mortal,” the demon boomed, its voice obnoxiously gravelly and unnecessarily loud.
Nero winced, rubbing his ear. “They must hate you at karaoke night.”
“Can you stop with your lame quips and help me kill it already?” Vergil said in irritation.
“That wasn’t a quip,” Nero argued as he dodged out of the way of the car the demon had thrown at him. “It was an educated guess. Also, hope that guy has really good car insurance, ‘cause that ride’s a total loss.”
“I never thought I’d meet someone more annoying than Dante,” Vergil said.
“Even better, you created someone more annoying than Dante,” Nero said.
Vergil chose to ignore that and rush the demon with the Yamato again. Nero took that as another win in his book. Not that he was keeping score of how many times he effortlessly hopped onto Vergil’s last nerve, of course.
Nero shot at the demon. The problem with the big ones was that you had to find a weak point to make quick work of them, or else it took forever to take the bastards down. Nero didn’t mind a challenge, but this hulking beast had barely managed to touch the attacking duo so far. It was quickly becoming a waste of their time and a whole lot of property destruction.
Still, Nero circled it and fired away, looking for any hint of a reaction that he’d hit a sensitive spot. He had to dodge two more giant fist slams before finally getting results.
He shot the thing in the upper back and it jerked forward with a snarl of pain, pounding both fists into the ground. Nero barely managed to dodge this time, but he let out a snicker and grabbed his sword.
“Upper back,” he informed Vergil. “I’ll keep it distracted.”
Nero moved back around so he was in sight of the demon. He shot at its eyes just to piss it off, barely throwing himself out of the way of another car. Well, mission successful.
“You really hate cars, don’t you?” Nero said, leaping away from the fist aimed at him. He gripped one of the massive fingers and hauled himself up onto the demon’s wrist before it could smack him off.
He stabbed his sword into the demon’s wrist and it cried out, using its free hand to try and squash Nero. Nero leapt off its wrist at the last second, digging his sword into the palm of the oncoming hand and using his momentum to swing up onto that wrist instead.
He stabbed his sword into it. “I’m like a mosquito, but you won’t itch after. Bright side to everything, eh?”
It moved to smack him again, but suddenly howled in pain. It staggered back, twisting enough for Nero to see that Vergil had struck a hard blow to its upper back. Took him long enough.
Nero cried out in surprise as the demon suddenly jerked its arms, sending him flying. He managed to catch himself on the edge of a nearby building, looking over at the demon.
It had managed to grab Vergil, even as a greenish blood oozed from its lips. It roared in Vergil’s face before flinging him like an unwanted toy.
Nero watched in horror as Vergil smashed through one of the buildings. The demon fell to the ground, twitching for a moment before growing lifeless.
Nero leapt from the building, making his way down to the ground. He ran through the hole Vergil had made, skidding to a stop when he spotted a bloodied, broken body on the ground.
“Vergil!” he cried, rushing to him and dropping at his side. “Ah, shit. Shit!”
Vergil tried to push himself up, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate. Nero grabbed him, holding him still, eyes locked on the beam protruding through Vergil’s side.
“Don’t move,” Nero ordered.
He knew Dante had survived being stabbed through the chest. Surely Vergil could survive this, right?
But he couldn’t be sure. He’d never seen Vergil this injured before.
Vergil’s breath rasped in and out. His face was drawn with pain and anger.
He tried to get up again, hissing out in pain as he accidentally jostled the beam. Nero held him more firmly.
“Please don’t move!” he said, hating the panic in his own voice. He grit his teeth, eyes slowly roaming over Vergil and taking in his many injuries.
Vergil, who always complained about Nero being reckless and stubborn, continued to try moving. Nero would punch him if the stupid bastard hadn’t just been flung through a building and partially impaled.
“Vergil!” he said in frustration. “Stop it! Stop trying to move! You’re making it worse. Shit, you’re making it worse. I’ll...I’ll call for help.” He needed Dante here. Dante would know what to do. If Vergil could survive this. He slowly pulled his hands away from Vergil. “Please don’t move. You stupid, stubborn bastard. Don’t move.”
He hurried back outside, hoping the stupid demon hadn’t smashed all the phone booths in the area. For once luck was on his side, and he managed to find one intact.
But that was where the luck ran out. Trish answered and informed him Dante was out, but she’d go find him and send him to them immediately. She told him to keep Vergil still until help arrived, because he was a tough bastard but he wasn’t unkillable. Without seeing the damage herself, she couldn’t judge how much danger he was in from his wounds.
Nero tried to compose himself as he returned to Vergil. Not surprising him at all, Vergil had dragged himself a few feet. He’d managed to reach his Yamato, gripping the sword in a hand that Nero was honestly surprised he still had any control over with how shattered his body looked.
“I told you not to move!” Nero snapped, his anxiety over the situation welling up as he grabbed Vergil’s shoulder. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Maybe you deserve it for being such an idiot, but like hell am I going to let it happen. You don’t need the sword right now. I’ll keep you safe if anything else shows up. I need you to trust me, Vergil. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Maybe he had his issues with Vergil. But Vergil was family, and Nero was tired of losing his.
“I’m...fine,” Vergil ground out. Still, he loosened his grip on his sword and rested his head against the ground.
Nero shifted and guided Vergil’s head onto his lap instead. Vergil looked like he might protest, but instead he just turned and spit blood onto the ground, moodily glaring away from Nero.
“‘M fine,” Vergil muttered again. Nero couldn’t tell if he was imagining Vergil sounding weaker or not.
“I’ll never let you live this down, old man. So you better not die on me, not when I finally have something to hold over your head,” Nero said. “Having the nerve to call me reckless when you drag yourself several feet with a damn beam sticking out of your gut.”
“Brat,” Vergil said. Nero was definitely imagining any fondness in his voice.
Still, he put a light hand on Vergil. “Just stay still until help comes. You’re gonna be fine physically, and eternally tortured by Dante and I for this mentally. Okay?”
Vergil barely seemed conscious now. Nero was impressed he’d stayed awake this long with his injuries.
Still, Vergil nodded before passing out. Nero closed his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before opening them to stay alert for any approaching danger.
He’d fight to protect Vergil until help arrived. He just hoped that help arrived in time.
Lydia awoke to the sensation of frantic fingers at her throat, feeling for a pulse, and what must have been a jackhammer trying to shatter her skull. When she struggled to pry her eyes open, everything seemed too huge and close, overwhelming.
It probably would have been more comfortable to make a tactical retreat back into darkness. This nightmarish headache wouldn’t follow her there. When they noticed her stirring, however, the hand against her pulse point abruptly shifted to cup her cheek. That touch was familiar, as was the terrified, pale blue gaze hovering over her, finally shifting into focus.
“Jam’son?” she croaked, flinching at the brightness of the speech slide that burst to life overhead. The letters were a jumble to her dazed eyes, only half decipherable.
“…hank heavens! I saw…tumble…the ladder! I-I feared—Oh, no, no, please don’t move! Stay still for me, angel. Wait until help arrives.”
“Please,” the man said and knelt down beside Clint. He reached out for him but when Clint saw his hands he tried to shy back. “It’s not a trick, I swear.”
“Wha…” he croaked. “What a shtick is this supposed to be?” he pressed through his teeth. He tried to get out of his reach but the pain in his abdomen was just too much.
“Don’t move, for crying out loud!” the guy said. “You’re bleeding out!”
Clint glared at him, his hand wrapped tightly around the handle of his empty gun.
“This whole thing,” the man muttered and shrugged out of his shirt to press it onto the bleeding wound. “This was not my idea!”
“No shit?” Clint said and coughed the next moment. It hurt like hell.
“Which part of ‘Don’t move’ was not understandable?” the guy growled now. He moved his hand to the pocket of his pants and Clint moved the gun. The man snorted.
“I know it’s empty,” he said. “And you wouldn’t shoot me. Otherwise you’d die, too.”
“Why… why do you…”
“Help you?” the man looked up from the phone he now held in his hand. He dialed.
“Yes, 911? I need an EMT as fast as possible. Here’s an injured Avenger. Yes, he’s bleeding out. Hurry!” he said. “Yes, Trustcorp Bank. Yes, that one.”
He put his phone away and pressed his hand on the shirt on the gunshot wound in Clint’s stomach again.
“They are on their way,” the man said. “And about the why…” he sighed and sat back as far as possible. “Yes, we were here to rob the bank. But it was supposed to go differently. Go in, get the money and leave.”
“And then there was this Avenger who ruined everything,” Clint groaned. The man huffed a bitter laugh.
“Our weapons were supposed to be dummies, you know,” he said. “I had no idea that…”
“That some of them were real?” Clint finished his sentence.
“Yeah,” the man said. “I’m sorry,” he added then. That moment they could hear sirens and both looked at the entrance. “I guess your ride is here.”
“Don’t,” Clint murmured when the man rose. “Don’t run away. Stay and I’ll help you.”
“Sorry, man,” the guy said and looked at the entrance again. Together with the EMTs came cops into the bank. They all hurried over to Clint and the man stepped back slowly to not attract too much attention.
Clint looked at him one last time before he went to hide behind a counter. And then the EMTs knelt down beside him.
Whumptober 2021 - October 17th - "Please don't move!"
Fandoms: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types
AO3
Warnings: None
Gift fic for @ckbookish
Note: Dick Grayson is Robin
---
If Bruce knew beforehand that the whole thing was a trap… he would have forced Dick to sit this one out, even if he hated him after-wards with all those pent up 16 year-old emotions. It’s not often Bruce trusts himself to get Robin involved in Gotham Rogue cases, but Joker was in Arkham and the building has been unused for weeks now. Bruce was only double checking for any suspicious activity, and Dick wanted to come along.
They’ve been fighting a lot lately. Bruce couldn’t come up with any kind of probable reason to say no to him, less he wants another heated argument to start up between the two of them.
But of course it was a trap. Of course Joker always makes sure he has the last laugh even after he’s locked away. They walked into the large, central room of the building and suddenly the whole place started filling up with green gas. They managed to get on breathing masks and close the doors behind them before the gas could escape to the rest of the building, but Bruce thinks Dick had taken in a small breath of the gas anyways. He hasn’t started any kind of uncontrollable laughter, but he has his lips thinned like he thinks he’ll start coughing if he opens his mouth.
Alarms started to blare, and a recording of Joker’s voice rang out above the shrill, saying the entire building will be flooded with toxins if they don’t hurry to get out. Doors shut and locked all around them, leaving only a hallway they haven’t come in from open to run down.
Bruce had memorized the layout of the building, and he knew the hallway would eventually leave towards an exit, but it also had a high likelihood of traps because of its length and width.
They ran, because there’s only so much they can do. The air masks they have will only last so long against an unknown Joker Toxin, especially putting into account that Joker most enjoyed making toxins that challenges the technology he has in their masks.
All was going fine while they ran to escape the building… but it all went wrong when there was a click and Dick went completely still; eyes wide behind his domino mask. Bruce came skidding to a halt, turning to see him standing like a statue, his feet planted exactly where he had stopped them.
“B,” he whispers, and Bruce understands the problem. The tile Dick’s left foot is on is slightly sunk into the floor.
Bruce carefully approaches him, crouching by the sunken tile to pick at the ones surrounding. Thankfully, Joker likes his death-traps to not be completely impossible to escape. He likes it when people struggle and struggle until everything fails. Joker is confident in the contraption Dick is standing on, which is why it’s not covered in cement or something of the like when Bruce pulls up one of the neighboring tiles and is able to see the land-mine in all of its glory.
“How bad is it?” Dick asks, his voice tight.
Bruce leans in towards the bomb, pushing the sound of the alarms out of his head. As long as the hallways don’t start filling with gas any time soon, everything should be fine.
“It’s weight sensitive,” he explains. “Putting more pressure won't set it off, but taking weight off will. Though, it looks like it will be easier to disarm if you put as little pressure on it as possible, so please don’t move while I disarm it."
“Yeah,” Dick replies, a chuckle in his voice that makes Bruce wonder if it’s his nervousness or if he really did take in a small dose of toxin.
Bruce pays no mind to it, as it’s not the most pressing matter he has to tend to at the second.
It’s a complicated bomb, but it’s not one Bruce can’t figure out. He doesn’t have much room to work between the controls and the tile Dick’s practically balancing on, but laying himself on the ground and putting a flashlight in his mouth to better see his tools helps a little.
He makes a considerable amount of progress before Joker’s recorded voice shouts out through the building, announcing thirty seconds before the place is flooded with toxins. Bruce has to tear his fingers out of the device as a startled laugh practically shoots out of Dick’s mouth, causing him to put more pressure on the tile. Bruce watches helplessly as Dick brings his hands to his mouth to suffocate the laughter, surely becoming more and more intense the more anxious about it he gets.
“Robin,” Bruce says once Dick’s giggles settle enough for Dick to open his teary eyes and look at him in response. “I need you to stay calm. Keep your weight balanced exactly as it is and ignore everything else. Just focus on your balance. You’re good at balancing.”
“Ten seconds!” Joker’s voice screeches joyfully, startling Dick to look up at the ceiling for the source of the voice. Bruce calls his attention back to him as Joker begins to count down every second.
“Dick, do you trust me?”
Dick takes the second between 8 and 7 to decide to nod yes, hands still pressed against his mouth over his air mask.
“Then focus on nothing else. Do not move.”
Joker laughs about how he must have miscounted when the gas starts filling the hallway around the fourth second. Bruce bends down to the mine and continues his disarming, having even less room to work with because of Dick previously putting more pressure on it.
Above him, Dick’s shoulders practically vibrate with escaping, painful sounding giggles, but the entire time he keeps his weight balanced like Bruce asked him too. Pride would fill Bruce’s chest if the urgency to get out wasn’t already there.
Finally, he snips the final wires that turns the land-mine off. Bruce rises to his feet and immediately gathers Dick into his arms, as the boy looked like he was ready to collapse… boneless… energy completely spent just by standing still while resisting the agonizing laughter that comes with Joker toxin.
Dick is so tiny against his chest, curled up with one arm over his mouth to muffle the sound of his own laughter, and the other digging into Bruce’s suit. Bruce runs as quickly as he dares, getting very conscious of the fumes that have flooded all around him.
Thankfully, he manages to escape without any more traps; bursting through the door with his kid in his arms, gas escaping behind him and dissipating into the sky before the door locks shut behind him.
“I got you,” Bruce soothes after he raced through every short-cut he could think of to get Dick home. He lays the boy—breathless and moaning in pain between every gasping giggle—in the closest cot in the cave. Already Alfred is pulling an oxygen mask over him and inserting an IV filled with what should be an anti-toxin. “I got you…”
Dick writhes for a moment, trying to find a comfortable spot, but Alfred grabs his shoulders and gently scolds him from moving less he wants to tear out the IV accidentally.
It’s proof of how quickly the anti-toxin is working when Dick glares back in response.
Bruce lets out a relieved sigh. Already his breathing is evening out, and his eyes are drooping in exhaustion. Bruce finally allows himself to relax, no longer thinking about everything that could go wrong… if Dick had lifted even an ounce of his weight off that land-mine before Bruce could disarm it.
He gets up to head towards the showers, but a hand grabs at his wrist.
“Stay,” Dick whispers, his eyelids more shut than open.
Bruce finds that he can’t say no, so he sits back in the chair by the cot and brings a hand up to cup the side of Dick’s face. “Okay,” he says softly. Dick hums and fully closes his eyes, leaning into Bruce’s hand and falling into a peaceful sleep.
Bruce keeps his hand there, the joys and terrors of being a parent washing over him like they do every time he sees his kid like this. Eventually, he falls asleep too, simply boneless with gratefulness that nothing worse happened tonight and his baby boy is safe in his arms where he belongs.
Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.
Previous/ Chapter Index/ Next
~~~~~~~~~~
Zelda followed Link out of the room, hobbling a bit as she cradled her arm and forced her underused legs to remember how to work. It took a bit, and they burned with pins and needles, but it got to a tolerable point, and she managed to focus once again.
Link leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, resting his head back against. Urbosa had a sword in her hands, and she was running a cloth along it time and time again, keeping the blade pristinely clean. Even Mipha had a pitchfork, three prongs sharp. Effective, but flimsy. Zelda had a feeling she could reinforce that if she just had…
“Here,” Revali said, thrusting something into her hands.
Zelda startled and sat back before her mouth fell open. “Where did you get this?”
“Made it. It’s not great, but it’ll do for now.”
Zelda stared at the handcrafted bow in front of her. Sure, it wasn’t the most beautiful thing, but after losing her homemade metal bow to the Yiga, receiving this was an unexpected blessing. He even set a pile of arrows beside her.
“I had some time to kill,” he mused, huffing and crossing his arms. “Figured better to do this than to let all that time go to waste.”
The smile that spread across her face spoke louder than words as she ran her hand along the arrows. “Revali, thank you.”
“Well, don’t get all soft about it. I needed more arrows too.”
“Of course,” Zelda said with a smile.
Revali’s lips twitched up, but he huffed and walked away to grab his own things again.
Link walked forward, though he stopped between them all. “Do we know how many there are?”
Revali huffed. “I didn’t stop to ask them once they started to chase me. I counted fifteen before I was spotted.”
Humming thoughtfully, Link leaned on his staff. “Revali and Zelda should take the back with Mipha and I. Fire first, and focus more on keeping them together so they don’t scatter and surround us. If a few arrows miss, that’s acceptable if it’s keeping them herded. Urbosa and Daruk, you should both take point. Obviously, you’re both our best fighters.”
“In close combat,” Revali muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
“Why don’t we just run?” Zelda asked. “They’re Malice ridden, and they’re outnumbering us.”
Link didn’t answer, and neither did Revali. Urbosa, on the other hand, put her hand on Zelda’s shoulder. “We don’t leave anyone behind. We always take care of our own. And right now, you and Link are not capable of running the speed, or distance we’d need to outrun them. So, we stay and we fight.”
Zelda swallowed. “This is… my fault?”
“No, little bird, it’s not. We could have gotten you father when we first picked you two up. We could have found that hoard earlier and had more time to move. We don’t question our every action, because then that endless line of questioning never disappears. ‘Was it our fault?’ No. It was several things that all happened at once to cause this.”
Sighing, Zelda nodded, though Urbosa’s words were little more than an attempt at comfort to her. It was her fault, and she knew it.
That thought got her through the first volley of arrows.
Several crazed bokoblins, tongues hanging out, eyes wide and bloodshot with the effects of Malice, ran towards their abandoned house that they’d stationed around. Zelda and Revali were on the hill that led to the front door, Link and Mipha were at the base of the hill, and Urbosa and Daruk were out and ready.
Zelda and Revali took out several bokoblins while they kept them corralled, and the rest went straight to Urbosa or Daruk. Zelda heard Mipha call out to Link at one point. “On your right!” And Zelda had turned to make sure he was fine, only to see him expertly swing his new staff around and jam it through the bokoblin’s stomach before pushing it off and away with his foot.
Bokoblins, on principle, were not terribly threatening, but when they swarmed, they swarmed. Zelda and Revali quickly ran through their arrows, and followed Revali when he ran forward, scooping up discarded arrows and shooting them again.
The moblins were more difficult, but Zelda didn’t even have to worry about them. Daruk and Urbosa were on them quickly, and soon, surrounding their broken little cottage was a massacre of carnage and green bokoblin blood mixes with the purple ooze of Malice.
“Is everyone all set?” Urbosa called out, pulling Daruk with her through a safe path around the corpses.
Daruk laughed heartily, bent down, and picked a trinket before pocketing it.
“You’re disgusting,” Revali muttered, helping Zelda out of their mess. He turned to her. “Are you alright? Was that too much so soon after your injuries? I won’t tell the others.”
Zelda looked around and leaned into him. “We do what we have to, right?”
“Hrmph. That we do.”
The four of them returned to Mipha and Link, only to see them in a hushed argument.
“Link!”
“Mipha!”
Zelda rolled her eyes as she neared. Their childish back and forth didn’t surprise her.
“Link, please! Stop being such a child! Adults accept the help they’re given.”
“I’m not a child! I’m not Sidon! And I don’t need help!”
Mipha grabbed his arm. “Good thing you’re not Sidon, or I’d be able to ground you. But unlike you, he’s safe. You’re not.”
“I am fine!”
Mipha tore the staff from his hand and tossed it to the ground. “I will say this kindly one more time, and then I will have Daruk or Urbosa hold you down, okay? Please don’t move.”
Zelda’s brows scrunched together and she circled Link before noticing a small gash on his side through his shirt, leaving a red line.
He stayed still, likely afraid she’d follow through on her threat, and Mipha lifted his shirt, fiddling with something while he groaned and clenched his teeth.
“Fine. We need to wash it out. Let’s go back inside.”
Urbosa made a face. “Inside? Here? We have a pile of dead bokoblins here. Can you give Link a patch job and then we’ll fix him at the next available house?”
Which, for their safety, they did.
Zelda and Link limped on, using the others as support until a wrecked apartment appeared in the distance.
They settled in it, getting Link and Zelda onto the second floor while Urbosa and Daruk took watch on the first, and Revali took the window on the third. Mipha would stay on Link and Zelda’s second floor to watch them.
Zelda took a quick shower, unsure how long the water would even last, but needing to get days of gunk and Malice off of her. Link went in after her, swapping places. He’d been with Mipha, and Zelda went there next.
“Does it still hurt?” Mipha asked as she unraveled Zelda’s bandage on her arm.
“Yes,” Zelda muttered miserably. “I don’t know if there’s going to be a way to get it out. Or if I’ll die eventually from it.”
“We’ll all die eventually, Zelda. Link did well getting most of it out, and I have seen Malice kill faster than this. I don’t think you’ll die from this.”
For a moment, Zelda felt a surge of hope. Mipha was the expert. She’d treated Malice before. She’d scraped it off those who had it on their skin, and clearly done what she could to clean up after Link’s attempt.
But when the rest of the bandage came off, a pit of dread bubbled up in her stomach, and she nearly threw up.
Essentially, there was a hole carved into her arm, and purple veins surrounded it. It was attempting to scab over, but there was still a long way to go. The bandage stuck to her skin, and tears of pain, disgust, and embarrassment sprung to her eyes.
Mipha wrapped her fingers around Zelda’s arm comfortingly. “It was worse before. This is healing nicely, believe it or not.”
“Not,” she scoffed, letting her nail run along one of the purple, Malice-filled veins on her arm.
So, Zelda sat in silence while Mipha replaced the bandages, determined not to show just how much it all terrified her. Because if Malice turned creatures into demons, and humans into monsters, what would the amount inside her do to her?
