Hullo!
Would It be alright I requested Dottore and the segments with (older, 16-18) teenage!reader who doesn't bat an eye at their own injuries, no matter how serious they are? Arm bent the wrong direction? Tis but a scratch. Impaled with glass? Nothing a nap can't fix. Cut? Duct tape. etc etc.
"what the hell did you do this time?!" "Oh I'm fine!" Just casually driving dadtore and segments crazy with the lack of pain and self preservation.
Muchos gracias if you can! (Also don't have to do it if you feel uncomfortable!)
You’ve never really thought much about your pain tolerance. To you, injuries are just… inconveniences. Annoying, sure, but nothing to cry about. If anything, they slow you down. You learned early on in the lab that whining doesn’t help anything, it just makes Father Dottore and his many segments sigh and fuss endlessly. So, you’ve adapted.
Which is why you don’t think twice about walking into the lab one afternoon, cradling your arm that’s bent at an angle arms should not bend.
“Father, I brought the tools you asked for.” You set the tray down one-handed, as if nothing’s wrong.
Dottore looks up from his notes, pen freezing mid-stroke. His eyes narrow immediately, zeroing in on the limb you’re trying (and failing) to hide behind your back.
“What. The hell. Did you do this time?” His voice is calm. Too calm. The kind of tone that makes even the older Harbingers hesitate.
You blink innocently. “Oh, this? It’s fine. I tripped down the stairs. Tis but a scratch.”
His chair screeches back as he stands, looming over you with the kind of menace that could send a grown soldier running. But you? You just tilt your head, smiling nervously as if nothing’s wrong.
The door slams open. “Did I hear—OH FOR THE LOVE OF—” Omega stops mid-sentence, jaw dropping as he sees your arm. “That is not a scratch!”
Beta’s voice follows quickly after. “Do you have any sense of self-preservation?! That’s broken in three places at least—”
“I said I’m fine!” you huff, puffing your cheeks like a child. “It doesn’t even hurt that much. I was just going to take a nap and let it sort itself out.”
Every single Segment freezes. Then, in unison, they groan in horror.
“Nap?!” Sigma nearly shrieks, tugging at his hair. “You’re bleeding, bent like a corkscrew, and your first thought is a nap?!”
You shrug. “Sleep heals everything. That’s science.”
Dottore pinches the bridge of his nose so hard it looks like he’s trying not to explode. He mutters something under his breath about “idiot children” and “why did I agree to this responsibility.” Then he gestures sharply to the operating table.
“Sit. Down. Now.”
You protest, but Beta practically lifts you by the shoulders and deposits you on the table like a misbehaving cat. You try to wiggle free. “Guys, seriously! You’re overreacting—”
“You’re underreacting!” Omega snaps. “I don’t care if you think you’re invincible, you’re not! You can’t just duct-tape a broken arm back together!”
“…Why not?” you ask, dead serious.
The silence that follows is deafening. Sigma actually has to turn away and whisper to himself to keep calm.
Dottore leans down until his mask is inches from your face. His crimson eye gleams dangerously. “If you ever use duct tape on an open wound again, I will personally lock you in a padded room until you learn better.”
You grin sheepishly. “But it worked last time…”
That does it, every Segment explodes in overlapping shouts.
“Last time?!”
“You mean this isn’t the first?!”
“Do you have a death wish?!”
Eventually, after much lecturing, you’re stitched, splinted, and patched up. You sit on the table swinging your legs, humming happily while they scowl and mutter to themselves.
“…See? All better.” You flash a smile.
“Better,” Dottore echoes, exasperated. “You terrify me more than some of my failed experiments.”
Yet when you tilt your head and ask, “You’re not mad at me, are you?” the terrifying Doctor just sighs deeply, pulling off his gloves. He places a gloved hand on your head, ruffling your hair.
“Mad? No. You’re too stupidly resilient to kill. But if you keep doing this, you’ll make me gray before my time.”
The Segments, though, are less subtle. Omega shoves a lollipop in your mouth to shut you up. Beta crosses his arms and swears he’s going to follow you everywhere from now on. Sigma grumbles about writing a manual titled ‘How Not To Die Like an Idiot’ and forcing you to memorize it.
But beneath all the fussing, you can tell, they’re scared. For you. And that makes your chest feel warm.
Of course, you don’t let them know that. Instead, you lick the lollipop, smile with a mouthful of sugar, and declare:
“Don’t worry! Next time, I’ll use better duct tape!”
The collective scream that follows shakes the entire lab.
