Injury prompts #15 for whichever two characters are loudest in your mind right now.
I HAD TO THINK ABOUT THIS VERY HARD but i have come up with something. didn't work for malix so i have drafted the camera shy boys, a duo i share with @poltergeist-punk and that everyone will be seeing more of soon. (prompt is from this post)
15. "This is going to hurt, okay?"
Normally, "bodyguard" is more of an empty title than an actual job. Pierce is a hacker, a tech expert, a lookout, and a good source of company (or at least he hopes he is), but Ruben doesn't often really need a bodyguard. He's good at what he does. Stealthy, nimble, quick—he's lasted this long solo because he knows what he's doing.
That doesn't mean Pierce isn't prepared to guard him at a moment's notice.
It's a recon mission, as many of them are; sabotage is Ruben's specialty but they need information first, and Finch knows who best to send on such errands. The shipment yard is receiving some mysterious new packages and it's their job to make sure it's nothing to worry about. Maybe the information should have been questioned more; maybe the enforcers made a lucky guess. Either way, Ruben has only just gotten the lock on a storage unit open when several armed soldiers circle around a tower of shipment crates, guns already raised.
By some stroke of fate, they aren't noticed right away. There's only so much time to act. Ruben shouts when Pierce grabs his upper arm, but they're already running when the firing starts, bullets tearing through the metal door as they dive into a labyrinth of containers and machinery. Ruben takes the lead the moment his wits are about him, and Pierce hastily draws his gun from his belt as they race through the yard and back the way they came.
Voices and gunfire reroute their course, and when they emerge on another side of the yard, it's at the edge of the entire structure, a steep drop-off into the river far below just barely protected by a guardrail. Ruben swears up a storm, somewhat muffled by his mask, and Pierce scans the surrounding area for a plausible way out. There's at least an area of the level right beneath them visible from one edge of the drop-off, but that's still a long way down. Surely there's something else—
They don't get time to consider it. Pierce sees the grenade while it's still in the air, and he grabs Ruben around the waist, throwing them both over the edge in the seconds before the place they'd been standing is hit with a deafening explosion.
Pierce lands first, cushioning Ruben's fall, but the angle at which he hits the ground puts most of the impact on one of his shoulders. It's only the wind being knocked out of him that prevents him from screaming.
The pain is excruciating, white-hot, a deep wrongness under his skin as he jolts onto his back and tries to find his lungs. Ruben's saying something, but for a moment it's impossible to actually parse it, agony tearing through Pierce's upper body. Did he shatter something? How many bones are broken? Ruben touches his shoulder, and then there's a hand over his mouth, muffling the pained cry he almost made. Ruben hushes him. Somewhere above, the enforcers are shouting to each other, likely searching for the bodies.
How long does it take them to give up? It's hard to measure, hard to think, tears streaking into Pierce's hair as he lies on his back and stares upwards. Some bodyguard he is.
Once things quiet down—they must have assumed the revolutionaries fell to their doom in the river—Ruben removes his hand. "You idiot," he hisses, his hand on Pierce's shoulder again. Pierce swears under his breath, choked on the pain of it. He's not going to get out of here, is he?
"Dislocated," Ruben mutters, and then he's running his palms over the rest of Pierce's torso, an action that would usually be a lot more exciting. He's pulled his mask down below his chin, his face hard to focus on, expression concentrated. "That might be it... You're lucky you've got so much extra padding. I would have shattered on impact."
Pierce squeezes his eyes shut, and through gritted teeth, says: "Thanks."
Ruben sighs, and for just a flicker of a second, Pierce feels fingertips brushing his cheek. "Look, the good news is that this is an easy fix."
Pierce cracks one eye open. "The—Th-the bad news?"
Ruben grimaces and doesn't answer. After what seems like some deliberation, he peels off one of his gloves, squeezing it for a moment before holding it close to Pierce's face. "Here. Bite down on this."
Uh oh.
Nothing if not obedient, Pierce does as he's told, opening his mouth to then bite down on Ruben's glove. At least it smells like him, tastes like him—maybe that's why he offered it. One small kindness. Then his hands are both on Pierce's shoulder and upper arm, razor-sharp pain radiating out from every touch.
"This is going to hurt, okay?"
It already hurts, Pierce thinks, but he can't even try to speak around the glove before Ruben grabs his shoulder and shoves. Whatever came before is nothing compared to this single moment, Pierce's jaw fit to snap as his teeth bite into the glove, back arching off of the concrete below as overwhelming, blistering agony rips through every nerve in his arm and upper chest.
He's not sure when it ends, panting on the ground as tears leak freely from his eyes, jaw going slack on the glove as the pain fades. Ruben makes a small, relieved sound, then plucks his glove out from between Pierce's teeth like one might pick up a piece of trash. "There we go," he says, and now his touch is more firm as he brushes Pierce's bangs from his face. "All better. You did a great job getting us down here in time, you know. We should be able to make our way back from this level."
Pierce takes in a rattling breath and, with great trepidation, pushes himself up to sit with the arm he didn't just dislocate. "What about the—"
"Missions' over," Ruben huffs, dismissively waving his hand. "We need to get back and tell Finch what happened. This might have been an ambush, in which case their informant needs to be spoken with..."
Pierce nods along, head buzzing from the adrenaline of it all. Going back sounds nice, actually. Ruben rises up to his feet in one fluid motion, and Pierce follows suit, staggering upright before hesitantly rubbing his shoulder. When he looks down, he finds Ruben regarding him with an expression that could almost be interpreted as soft.
"You did a good job," he says. "Thank you, Pierce."
Maybe it was worth it.
