content: whumper-turned-whumpee, whumpee-turned-carewhumper, plane crash / stranded, cold whump / hypothermia / frostbite / environmental whump, gore, trapped under rubble, much-discussed and implied cannibalism, referenced human trafficking, forced to beg, reluctant caretaker, major character death
this is my favorite piece i've written for this event, and also the longest at 2000 words! please enjoy, i'm really proud of this one :) i'll prob come back and give the characters names after medwhump may is over.
-
It was surreal that it barely hurt–not more than it had before the crash, at least. When Whumpee thought of a plane crash, not that they’d ever much pictured the possibility until now, they’d imagined some sort of fiery explosion as soon as it hit the ground, decimating everything inside.
But by some miracle, huddled in their cage, they were fine. The cage had taken the damage for them, leaving them with just some more bruises than usual, and as they pushed experimentally on its mangled door, it fell right off the hinges.
They crawled out from the wreckage, quiet as a mouse, as if Whumper would catch them trying to escape again and punish them. Really, they knew even Whumper had more important things to worry about at this point.
Whumpee made their way up from the back of the plane where their cage had been fastened, scanning the wreckage for anything useful as they did. It was a small, private plane, the body of it comparable to a small lounge, and there wasn’t much to search.
They tore most of a fleece blanket out from where it was pinned and wrapped it around themself, the biting cold already seeping in as the metal yawned open, especially given the thin, sleeveless clothes Whumper dressed them in. They gathered all the food and drinks they could find in an empty wastebasket, scoring a couple steak knives as well.
No Whumper. No Whumper’s body. Not even a little bit of blood, or a stray finger, or a trace of him in the seat they knew he’d been sitting in. It was as if he’d just vanished.
They hadn’t checked the cockpit.
Whumpee got up off the ground, swaying on their feet a bit in their attempt to balance on the uneven, tilted flooring, before making their way in.
It was immediately apparent that the front of the plane had taken the brunt of the damage.
The first thing they saw was the pilot, or what was left of him. His head had caved in against the controls, his brains splattered over everything in the cockpit.
Including Whumper, laid in the pilot’s lap.
Whumper looked over with wild, very-much-alive eyes, his hands gripped around the yoke as if he could somehow still steer the plane to safety.
His legs disappeared under the copilot’s side of the cockpit, undoubtedly crushed, blood trickling out from the mess of gnashed steel.
Terror was a look Whumpee had never seen on his face before.
“Help,” he choked out.
“What happened? Where are we?” Whumpee demanded.
“Plane crashed,” he whimpered, voice laden with pain. “It started to dip and we were hours late and something didn’t feel right, so I checked in the cockpit and the pilot was cold–I think he’d been dead for a while, like a fucking, heart attack or stroke or something? And it was just on autopilot until it ran out of gas. I tried to steer the plane and–and here we are. I don’t know where.”
He wasn’t even chastising them for their disrespectful tone. He was trembling. It barely felt like Whumper without the pompous attitude, the air of power. Just a sad, pathetic man lost in the cold.
“Are my legs okay?” he asked.
“Nope. Crushed,” Whumpee informed him.
Whumper sobbed. “What do we do?”
“I guess we just wait for the authorities to come get us and–”
All of a sudden, it hit them: this was it. The end. They were free. Once they were rescued, they’d be able to go back home. No more Whumper, no more of catering to his sick whims, no more pain. They were out.
“And then you’ll go to prison,” they finished chipperly. “Enjoy it while it lasts. This might be your very last taste of freedom.”
“F-fine. Fine, prison, sure. Just–get me away from this body.” Whumper shivered.
Whumpee crossed their arms. “Beg.”
For a moment, Whumper just stared at them, the wheels turning in his brain. Whumpee was beginning to think he wouldn’t do it, when the words spilled from his mouth: “Please help me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything I did to you, I’m so fucking sorry, just help me, please.”
It was amateurish, inarticulate. No way would Whumper have accepted that from them. But Whumpee would let it slide, because they weren’t a pretentious asshole, and some allowance had to be made for the fact that he’d just had his legs crushed.
They examined the situation a little closer: Whumper’s legs were surely destroyed, but it wasn’t a case where he’d just had them chopped off and the rest of him was two legs lighter. They were pinned, and moving him would be impossible. He’d been effectively fused with the plane.
Whumpee took a deep breath, grit their teeth, and hefted up the pilot’s body, carrying it into the body and dropping it in one of the surviving seats before returning to Whumper, the back of his head now resting in the butt of the pilot’s seat.
“Okay, now me,” Whumper directed. And, as a hasty afterthought, “Please.”
“I literally, physically cannot move you. Not unless I saw through your thighs with a steak knife, and I’m pretty sure you’d just bleed out,” Whumpee pointed out. “I think your only chance at survival is to just wait for the professionals to come handle whatever you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“O-okay.” Whumper was sniffling now, crying like a child, not that Whumpee could blame him. “Is there any way we can contact anyone to come get us?”
“I don’t know anything about planes!” Whumpee snapped. “I’d never even been on a plane before you kidnapped me! This is your plane! That you own! Shouldn’t you know the least thing about how it works? The emergency protocols? Anything?”
“There’s, um, um,” Whumper stammered, wracking his brain, “The radio, I tried it, nothing. There’s something called a black box, I think? I’ve heard of that. I don’t know what it is or how it works. Something about plane crashes?”
“I can’t believe this. You’re an idiot. What about the destination? Who’s waiting on you? There’s gotta be an airport or something expecting us, right?” Whumpee pressed.
The silence that followed was its own answer.
“Speak!” Whumpee shouted.
“Um, w-well, well, with–you know. I couldn’t have anyone knowing about…” Whumper’s voice quieted to a squeak, “...You. So this flight was kind of… secret?”
It was as if Whumpee’s soul left their body. For ten seconds, thirty seconds, a full minute, they just stood there. Staring at Whumper, then out the cracked-open windshield into the endless white, snowy mountains.
“Whumpee?”
As soon as Whumper brought them back to reality, Whumpee was on him, straddling him and punching him right in the face over, and over, and over.
“You fucking idiot! You’ve killed us! You killed me!” they screamed, wailing on him. “How could you be so stupid!? How could you do this? Are you serious? No one is coming! We’re dead!”
Whumper weakly put his hands up, to little effect, putting them back down after a couple punches, not resisting after that, as if he knew he deserved it. With a final smash of their fist into his cheekbone, Whumpee got up, brushing themself off and fixing the blanket back around them.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” they murmured. “Not even satisfying now.”
“M-maybe they’ll find us anyway,” Whumper whispered.
Whumpee huffed. “Yeah. Sure. Everything’s always worked out for you up until now, hasn’t it, big guy? We’ll see.”
-
The rest of the day passed in near-silence from Whumpee’s part, though Whumper continued to try and fail to start conversations. Whining first for companionship, which Whumpee wholly rebuffed, but then for water and a blanket, which they granted. At the very least, with all the snow, they didn’t have to worry about that. He whined a lot about how much his legs hurt, which they let pass without commentary.
“I’m starving,” Whumper complained, watching Whumpee snack on some carefully measured-out fancy roasted nuts. “Please bring me something to eat? Please?”
At least he’d learned his manners.
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Whumpee replied. “Our supply of food is really, really limited, and I don’t see anything edible around. No plants, no animals, no civilization. So what we’ve got is what we’ve got. And what we’ve got is a single flight’s worth of meals and snacks, and…”
They glanced over to the pilot’s corpse.
Whumper recoiled. “No. You’re insane.”
“I’m ready to survive. Not that you’d know anything about that. The way I see it, if I ration the food out, it still only lasts a couple of days for one person. Your pilot buddy’s got a lot of meat on him, and I packed him in snow to keep him from going bad too fast. Like a natural freezer. We’re both gonna be dining on him by Saturday, but I’m taking all the good food. Consider it payment for the last three years.” They popped another peanut in their mouth, then closed the jar. They really did intend to ration.
“That’s ridiculous! Worse than ridiculous, it’s unthinkable! I’m not a cannibal!” Whumper protested.
“Yeah, just an abusive human trafficker, that’s so much better,” Whumpee mocked. “Everyone’s a cannibal when they run out of food. Honestly, you’re next up if no one rescues us by the time we run out of pilot. It’s your fault we’re here. Deal with it. Call me when you’re really hungry.”
“You’re insane. You’re insane,” Whumper repeated under his breath as they left him.
-
The night was unbearable, even with the blanket. The thought of huddling for warmth with Whumper was so appalling it made their skin crawl, but as the hours stretched on and Whumpee realized that they may very well die if they didn’t, they made their way back to the cockpit.
Whumper was far worse off, having deteriorated horribly in the hours. Bound to the freezing metal of the plane, his legs had turned pitch-black where they touched it, the rest of his thighs hidden by the blanket he kept desperately trying to keep around himself as wind blew over him. His fingers and the tips of his ears, though not nearly as bad as his legs, had turned a sickening purple.
He looked up wearily. “Help.”
Whumper wasn’t going to make it. That much was obvious.
It was strange. For years, Whumpee had wished for his death every single day. Even now, they wouldn’t really be sad for Whumper if he died, not really.
But the thought of being out here totally alone? They thought they knew true terror, living under Whumper’s thumb, but this was another level. They might as well be stranded in the reaches of space, contact with their ship severed, alone in the empty blackness.
“Alright.” The words almost came from somewhere else, like Whumpee was watching from outside their body. “Let’s… huddle for warmth.”
Whumpee squeezed themself into the chair with him, piling their blanket on top of his so they had two layers. “Here. Bring your arms in. We’ll keep all the arms in the middle between us so our fingers don’t fall off.”
“Okay,” Whumper wept. Even to Whumpee’s own chilly hands, Whumper’s were freezing.
They curled into the fetal position and tucked the blanket around both of them as best they could, though the ends of Whumper’s thighs stuck out. “Try and get some rest,” they encouraged.
“Okay. Thank–thank you,” Whumper managed. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
You’re not sorry. You would have hurt me forever if this didn’t happen. If our places were swapped, you would never be this nice. You probably would have used hurting me as stress relief to make you feel better about the crash.
“Sure. Get some rest,” Whumpee sighed.
-
When they woke up, Whumpee was cuddling a corpse.
Alone.
Wordlessly, they fished out one of the steak knives and got to work on sawing their future meals from the plane.
crushed under a building whump. Whumpee is a normal guy, or a superhero or a villain, but either way they're super beloved by their coworkers or other people, and then something goes REALLY wrong.
be it faulty supports, a mission gone bad, an explosion of unprecedented proportions, or something else, your whumpee is now buried under a fuckton of rubble.
The search teams want to give up, but caretaker won't let them. Caretaker digs through the rubble to find whumpee themselves. How injured is the whumpee? that's up to you.
caretaker has to take care of whumpee for months afterwards, and whumpee feels so bad about it.
yesss... haha YESSSSS
crushed under a building is SO delicious!
caretaker digging through the rubble themselves to find whumpee - I love that <33 the devotion!! the desperation!!
Maybe Caretaker's digging with bare hands, and their hands get scraped up and their fingernails torn... then Whumpee gets pulled from the wreckage, badly injured (I'm inclined towards broken bones) and barely/not conscious, and rushed to hospital, and after surgery Caretaker sits by their bedside holding their hand... and after the initial coming to and tearful reunion Whumpee looks down at their intertwined hands & sees that Caretaker's are still scratched up and caked with dirt and blood & realises that Caretaker dug them out personally? And from there, you can go in all sorts of tonal directions - sweet, with mutual care and/or whumpee realising how loved they are; angsty, with whumpee feeling bad that caretaker got hurt saving them, maybe not valuing their own safety/life; a touch of levity/humour a la "guy who just woke up from a coma and looks like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards tells bedside-vigiler they look like shit"; etc :3
and the extended caretaking + whumpee feeling bad about it - tons of angst (and comfort) potential there!
His eyes were on yours the moment you entered, wide and worried. Of course you hadn’t listened. Of course you had followed him. He was crazy to think otherwise. And then he was falling, the heft of walkers and debris crashing through the floor below and into the lowest level, out of your sight.
“Daryl!” Your voice carried throughout the desolate fitness center, caring not for the further threats it could summon. Your friends chased your fleeing form, steps loud on the stairs to the lower level. You had told him it was unstable, warned him that it would collapse under the weight of the walkers. He led them anyway, adamant to separate the herd from you and your comrades. “Daryl, answer me, goddamnit!”
The dust was still settling, walkers that were fortunate enough to not be buried were staggering or dragging themselves toward the promise of a fresh meal. You dodged and ducked and tore across the room toward the enormous pile of rubble.
“Oh god,” you sobbed, fingers already raw and bleeding from digging through the rough stone and splintered wood. You tossed what you could lift, knees aching from the concrete below them, scraping the skin as you crawled forward. “He’s here somewhere!” You managed to evade the reach of trapped walkers, still yearning for that single mouthful of flesh.
“It’s unlikely he sur—” Ezekiel started, cut off by a stern look from Carol. Your desperate expression snatched her gaze.
“Keep looking!” She called.
You nodded, placing your weight on a plank of wood and feeling it give. Sitting back on your heels was all that prevented you from tumbling into the water below. Staring into it, your eyes widened. Before you could warn the others, you heard a dull, repetitive thudding from somewhere. You glance upward, the opening in the floors above leading all the way to the outside. Rainwater had collected, filling the pool!
“There’s water!!” You shouted, the thud sounding again! There was still the chance that he had missed the opening, that he had been crushed beneath the debris.
“A pool!” Carol cried out, warning the others. “Watch your step, you’ll fall through!”
Switching on your flashlight, you held it beneath the water, met with milky yellow eyes of the dead. The lack of oxygen wouldn’t kill them and there was the concern of Daryl being infected by the blood in the water. If he hadn’t already been bitten—
“Here!” Jerry shouted, lifting a large slab with a loud grunt. “He’s here!”
You pulled your hand from the water with a choked off sob, dropping the flashlight in favor of crawling up the pile and down the other side to where the soldier was crouched. “Is he breathing? Is he alive?”
“He’s alive.” Jerry confirmed, a large hand squeezing your shoulder. “He’s alive.” You nodded, sniffing back your tears in favor of triaging the prone archer. He was a mess; covered in a thick layer of dust, the substance caked into every wound you could see.
“We can’t move him.” You whispered shakily, hands hovering. Beyond the lacerations and contusions, what other injuries could lie hidden beneath the skin? His chest was rising and falling, eyes rolling beneath closed lids. You looked around at the rubble, granting only a second’s thought toward how goddamn lucky he had been to have that slab fall at the perfect angle to protect him from the debris without crushing him. How lucky you had been. “Daryl.”
His face scrunched up, eyes clenching and jaw tensing before his mouth moved to form words you couldn’t hear.
“What?” You leaned closer, tilting your head so that his quick breaths were puffing out against your ear.
“Your—knee’s on—on my hand.”
“Shit!” You quickly moved the offending body part, laughing through your tears as you leaned over him once again. “Are you okay?” The look he shot you once his eyes forced themselves open spoke volumes. “Right. Stupid question.” Before you could comment further, he was struggling to sit up, hissing through clenched teeth, his face red with exertion and pain. “Don’t move, you idiot!”
“M’fine.” He contested, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. “Just need a minute.”
“Or ten.” Carol quipped from above the two of you, smirking when you turned to look up. Her expression unwavering, she bent to squeeze Daryl’s shoulder, a silent expression of relief and gratitude. “Let’s get what we came here for and get him to the infirmary.”
“Don’t need no doctor.” He pushed against the ground, only making it a few inches before he plopped back down, squeezing his eyes shut.
“You were saying?” Your mouth split into a grin in the face of his irritation. Rubbing his back in slow circles, you nodded to Jerry, requesting some assistance.
Daryl scowled, knowing he’d be forced to give in or face your wrath. “Fine.”
Leaning in to kiss his cheek, you silently thanked whatever deity could be listening. “That’s what I thought.”
@whumpuary Day 9: Trapped Under Rubble/ Gunpoint/ Out of Time
CW: implied amputation, implied cauterization
The cave in had been as expected as it was unexpected. It had surprised everyone when it happened, but considering they were in an old mine that had been abandoned because it had kept collapsing, everyone on the team had gone into the mission knowing full well it was a possibility.
"Roll Call!" Team Leader yelled once the dust had settled and the booming in the distance didn't seem so close to affect them anymore. "Who's not dead?"
"Teammate 1" Came a voice not too far from Team Leader.
"Teammate 2" Another sounded from farther down the mine shaft.
"Medic!" A voice yelled directly in Team Leader's ear. "Who screamed earlier? Are you alright?"
"That was me. Teammate 4. A rock hit me in the head, but I think I'm okay." A fourth voice called from somewhere behind them.
"They're probably not." Medic whispered and a dimming flashlight flickered to life. Medic's dust covered face was illuminated eerily behind it as they swept it over the small area looking for Teammate 4.
In the distance in front of Team Leader, another flashlight flickered on, brighter than Medic's. It illuminated the whole of the room to reveal that the exit, the way the team had come was almost completely covered in rubble, blocking all of their exits with the possible exception of Teammate 3, who was the smallest and most agile of them.
"Teammate 3" Team Leader called. "Are you dead?"
Silence followed. Team Leader's stomach instantly twisted into knots and they regret being so cavalier with the death jokes.
"Teammate 3!" They called again, Their eyes darting over the room.
Teammate 1 was standing off to Team Leader's side, near another pile of rubble that had not been there a few minutes ago. Their shirt was ripped and there was a large quantity of blood on their leg, that they of course were not acknowledging. Teammate 2 who had the working flashlight, was farther down, smartly away from most of the rock fall and in the part of the tunnel that was still open. Teammate 4 and Medic were together now near the wall of rubble. Teammate 4 was in fact bleeding profusely from a nasty gash on their forehead. But they looked lucid enough as they and Medic looked back at Team Leader with alarmed expressions.
"Teammate 3!" Team Leader yelled again holding terrified eye contact with Medic. In the silence that followed, there was finally a response. A tiny whine immitted from a pile of rubble near the corner of the wall, so quiet, Team Leader wouldn't have been able to hear it if a pin had dropped at the same moment.
"not dead yet, leader."
Team Leader was over to the rock pile in a second. Pushing and throwing rocks out of the way until Teammate 3 began to emerge among the rubble.
They had a bad gash on the side of their head. When Teammate 2, who had jumped in to help, moved a rock off their pelvis they had screamed in pain. Their femur appeared broken. So did one of their arms, which they had thrown over their face to protect it. Their other arm was in the worst shape. Or so Team Leader assumed it must be. It was completely buried under the wall of rubble. Team Leader could just barely make out Teammate 3's elbow before their entire forearm disappeared at the bottom of the massive pile heavy boulders that was blocking the team's exit.
"Medic!" Team Leader yelled over their shoulder. But Medic was already there; crouching just behind Team Leader with their flickering flashlight.
"Out of my way." They ordered Team Leader in an authoritative voice that made Team Leader jump out of their path without hesitation. They watched Medic for a minute as they shined their flashlight into Teammate 3's eyes and palpatated their body, making Teammate 3 scream in pain, all while asking them soft questions Teammate 3 could barely manage the answers to. When Medic finally got to the concerning arm injury Team Leader finally snapped out of their trance and turned to the rest of their crew.
"We have to start dismantling this wall." They ordered. "Teammate 2 help me with this. Teammate 1, you help Medic. Teammate 4, you just rest. I'm concerned about your head."
"Wait." Medic said over their shoulder. "Don't touch the wall yet. If it destablizes it could all come falling on Teammate 3 and I."
"How else are we supposed to get Teammate 3 out of there then?"
Medic stood up and turned towards Team Leader. In the shadowy light of the two flashlights, their face looked grave, but Team Leader was pretty sure it would have looked like that in the sunshine too. They walked over to Team Leader and gave a minute shake of their head.
"Even if we could get out of here, we wouldn't be able to save it. The bones are dust." Medic whispered so only Team Leader could hear. Their heart sank, but as they looked into Medic's dark, apologetic eyes, they knew they wouldn't be saying this if it wasn't absolutely true. This was going to be horrible.
"Okay. Change of plans" They said still holding eye contact with Medic. "Medic is in charge. Listen to them."
Medic nodded gravely and went over to their pack. Team Leader felt defeated. Deflated. They were supposed to protect their team, but here they were buried in an underground mine with almost no one knowing where they were. Three people were injured, one of whom was close to death's doorstep and about to get even closer.
You haven't failed as a leader yet.
They tried to tell themselves.
If you get everyone out of here alive you did the best you could.
But this wasn't even about their leadership really. Teammate 3 was looking at them with partially glazed over eyes, lips parted in the most confusion they could muster with the concussion they were probably sporting. They had no idea what was about to happen.
Medic came back with their medical kit.
"I know we all have flasks here. Get them out. Who ever has the highest proof gets to save there's, the rest of you, feed yours to Teammate 3. This is the only pain medication we have here. Teammate 1, I'm going to need your help, get behind Teammate 3 and help support them. Teammate 2, Teammate 4, you guys will be holding the flashlights on us, Team Leader-"
Medic turned to teamleader and handed them a wad of gauze and a book of matches.
"I don't have equiptment here to do stitches when we're done with this." They told Team Leader in a low voice. "You take the last flask of alchol and be ready to soak the gauze and light her up as soon as I say alright.?"
Team Leader nodded, feeling a little detatched as they agreed to Medic's orders. Medic nodded as well and swallowed hard before looking Team Leader back in the eye.
"You have the saw, right?"
It was only then, aparently, that Teammate 3 seemed to realize what was about to happen.
"Medic?" They said, the glazed look in their eyes suddenly fading into pure terror. They feably pushed away the flask Teammate 1 was now feeding them with their one hand and tried to sit up as best they could.
"Medic. Why do you need the saw? Medic? Why do you need the saw?"
Their voice got shriller with each word. Both Team Leader and Medic stoically ignored them as the saw was produced from Team Leader's pack and handed to Medic. They couldn't even look each other in the eye as the tool that was about to alter Teammate 3's life forever changed hands between them.
"Medic? You don't have to do this. Please don't do this."
"Finish feeding them the alchol." Medic ordered in a hollow, blank voice. Teammate 1 obliged and pressed the flask back to Teammate 3's lips and forced their head back to tip it into their throat. Teammate 3 screamed and moaned around the neck of the flask. Tears bursting in their eyes.
"Medic! Please!" They screamed shrilly once the flask was empty. "Please don't cut off my arm! There has to be another way!"
Medic walked over to them and knelt close to Teammate 3's arm.
"There isn't " They said sadly. "I'm sorry."
As Teammate 3 opened their mouth to scream again Medic suddenly produced a second wad of gauze and shoved it in their mouth.
"We can't have you screaming too loud or the sound waves could cause another collapse." They explained Teammate 3's eyes widened with a mixture of terror and anger, and they began to scream against their gag again and struggle. Medic purposefully looked away from them and at Teammate 1 who had already taken up their place behind Teammate 3.
"You're job is going to be make sure Teammate 3 moves as little as possible throughout this. Hold them as still as you can." Medic told them. Teammate 1 nodded and proceeded to manvouer themselves around Teammate 3 so that they had them practically imobilized while still managing to stay out of Medic's way. It didn't escape Team Leader's notice that Teammate 1 had managed to position themselves so that Teammate 3 wouldn't be able to see what was about to happen. Before totally settling themselves they leaned forward and kissed Teammate 3 on the side of the head.
"You're going to be okay." They said in a low voice and Medic began to postion themselves to start the procedure. Team Leader was so focused on the building horror that was happening infront of them that they at first didn't notice Teammate 4 hold out the final flask to them.
"Here boss." They whispered. When Team Leader looked up at them, they could see the reflection of the flahslights shine in their eyes. They had started crying. After a moment Team Leader noticed for the first time that they had tears running down their face as well.
"Just so you know. Teammate 1, Teammate 2 and I all took swigs of it. But there should be plenty left."
Team Leader nodded and took it from them. They didn't have the heart to be mad about that. And when they looked over at Medic, they were looking back at the flask as though they were jealous they weren't able to take a drink from it. Team Leader looked Medic directly in the eye and took a swig themselves.
"We're ready when you are Medic."
Medic gave them a nod. Then looked back at Teammate 3 one last time. Teammate 3 had dissolved into tears and was moaning something over and over again through their gag that Team Leader was pretty sure was "please"
"You're probably going to pass out from the pain quickly." Medic said trying to maintain a clinical voice, and failing. "Don't try and fight for consciousness. I promise we'll take care of you. When you wake up again this will all be over."
Teammate 3 began to cry harder, and Medic paused, their cold clinical expression breaking.
"I'm sorry Teammate 3. I'm so sorry that I have to do this."
With that Medic turned back Teammate 3's arm and picked up the saw.
Villain was waiting at the exit when Thief emerged from the vault. Thief’s eyes widened as he spotted his employer standing nonchalantly in her ghastly green duster coat.
“Thief! I was starting to worry that you weren’t going to make it.”
Thief glanced back at the door to the vault. Did she not hear the alarm that triggered? Was she not freaking out about this too? Who fucking cares?
“We gotta go! There’s guards hot on my tail.”
“Did you get it, gorgeous?” Villain purred as if they had all the time in the world. Thief’s nodded and patted his satchel as he half ran towards her. “Good,” she said as she pointed a revolver straight at Thief’s chest. “Hand it over.”
Thief stared at her and scoffed. “Really?!”
“Contact said you were the best, but somebody has to go down for spilling all the heroes naughty little secrets, darling. I’m sure you understand.” She inclined her head. “Toss it over. Quickly now, or neither of us will get away.”
Thief snarled. “Good. I’d rather you go down with me and don’t get these—” Thief stumbled back. His eyes widened slightly as his lips parted dumbly. He glanced down at his left arm. It was strangely cold and oh… oh… there was a hole… in— he glanced up at Villain and her smoking gun.
Did she shoot him?
A warm sensation crawled up his stomach as Villain approached. “Come on Thiefy, you should know never to trust someone in our line of work.”
“I… I don’t… I didn’t trust… you,” he stammered, his mind moving too slow and yet somehow so fast at the same time. Villain was in front of him now, a wicked smile on her face. She patted his cheek lightly before grabbed the strap of his satchel and gently prying it from his body. His hand instinctively reached out for the strap, but he howled and bit his cheek as the bullet wound gushed.
“You should really get that looked at,” Villain told him with a look of faux concern as she opened the bag. She removed the files of the hero identities and dropped his bag to the floor. “By the way, I have the building set to blow in a minute, so don’t be caught in the blast. Toodle-oo.”
Thief stared after Villain as she walked away. “W-wait! You can’t just…” Thief scooped up his bag from the floor and clamped a hand around his shoulder. “You can’t leave me here!”
“I really hope this won’t sour business relationships between us Thiefy, but if you do get caught be sure to tell that dashing Hero that you worked for me. Tell him to call me too, you know my number.” She checked her watch. “Almost out of time. A pleasure, Thief.”
“Villain!” Thief cried as she grabbed the door to the exit. At the same time the door from the vaults opened and a group of angry looking heroes fixed their gaze on the scene. They looked at Villain, then at Thief. Villain smiled as she pushed the door open and disappeared as the heroes descended.
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Thief cried. Didn’t Villain say something about—? Thief booked it for the door, racing after Villain but the shutters had started to come down and he cursed. He turned to the Heroes and beckoned them with his good arm back towards the vault. “Run!” He cried, taking off in a sprint. “She set the building to—”
A cacophony of sound drowned out Thief’s warning. Explosives rained like bullets in cloisters above them. Thief stared up at the ceiling, his mouth open as the building shook and groaned around them only barely audible through the high pitched ringing in his ears. Dust sifted above them as a chunk of concrete dislodged and dropped from the roof.
After that piece fell, the rest were like dominoes. Most of the heroes had managed to escape down the stairs towards the vault. Number two Hero grabbed Thief’s shirt and yanked him out of the way of a chunk that would have landed straight on his head.
Number Two Hero was shouting something as he pushed Thief towards the door back to the vault. Thief held onto him and dragged the Hero with him. They would be fine. The stairs were concrete, if they could just go and hide under the stairs they may just—
Hero dragged Thief’s arm down suddenly like an anvil had hit him. Thief recoiled, pulling back, but it didn’t save him and he crashed to the ground with Hero. It was hard to see in the dust but he could feel the ground beneath him, and so he shot his arm out and felt around for Hero, coughing at the dust and soot and stench of gunpowder on the air.
He found Hero’s arm and traced it up, waving smoke out of the way. Then he saw Hero. More importantly he saw the chunk of debris that had caught Hero’s leg, and pinned him under rubble.
“Hero,” he said, though he could barely hear himself. “Hey! Hero! Hero!” He slapped Hero’s face lightly, but the Hero was out cold. Thief looked around for any sort of levy he could use to try and move the concrete from the Hero’s legs. He glanced back at the door that was so close to safety… then back at Hero. At his shirt that Hero had grabbed to drag Thief to safety.
He had to do something! He had to help Hero! He couldn’t just leave him here to be crushed or die. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
“Fuck!” Thief exclaimed. He scrambled to his feet. The explosions had died down within the first minute or so, but the building had only stopped rumbling and shaking around them, the dust settled over the rubble, exposing the smoke filled sky to Thief. “What the fuck—” he wheezed as he walked around to Hero’s crushed legs. “—are you doing, you idiot? They’ll let you rot in a cell for this and throw away the key!”
When Thief bent to inspect the damage, he was relieved to see only one of Hero’s legs had born the weight of the roof. It was also levied on other piles of rubble, so hopefully the damage wasn’t too severe.
If Thief worked quickly then he could probably make sure Hero was safe as a thank you for saving him, and escape before there was even a distant wail of—
Thief blanched. In the distance he could hear them; sirens.
Son of a bitch! Fucking, stupid, stupid, stupid—
He frowned at the unnerving silence of the building. Shouldn’t the other heroes be up here by now? Did they make it to the vault? Hide under the stairs? Did they somehow collapse and they were stranded in a pit with no exit?
Thief grabbed a chunk of the roof in his hands and heaved it up and off of Hero’s leg. The only part that was actually pinning Hero to the ground. Only he didn’t expect Hero to wake up screaming, crying, cursing and wailing somehow all at once.
“It’s okay!” Thief said, running back around to Hero’s face. “It’s okay! You’re okay.”
Hero’s pain filled gaze turned incredulous, then suspicious. “You— you… you’re the thief…”
Thief offered a watery smile. “Guilty. Look, I think we should prop you up against something.”
Hero heaved his words out through exhausted lips. “You… you’re… didn’t— run.”
“You saved me,” Thief said quietly. “I couldn’t leave you to die.”
Hero put a hand flat on the ground and started to push himself up, groaning and wincing as he went. Thief’s eyes widened, alarmed. “Hey! Maybe you should—”
Hero grunted with the effort until he was sitting upright beside Thief. He coughed out smoke, wheezing a little with his inhale. “You sh— you should go,” Hero told him.
Thief’s eyes widened. “What?”
Hero groaned, pulling his leg straight to assess the damage. “Go,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Who has the list?”
Thief slackened. “Villain…”
“Fuck…” Hero said. He ran his hands through his hair. “Okay. Thanks. Now go, you won’t get another chance.”
“But I—”
“I will arrest you in five seconds,” Hero suggested. “How bout that? Ready? Five.”
Thief got to his feet, bag in his hands. He threw the strap over his shoulder and went for the gap in the wall that would let him escape out the back way of the vault. Into the trees, to safety.
