Warnings: referenced torture, restraints, escape, dislocation, field medicine, unconsciousness
"Whumpee, Whumpee," Caretaker huffed as they reached the torture chamber. They had been running as fast as they could to get to Whumpee while everyone else distracted Whumper.
"'m here," Whumpee called back weakly.
Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief. They opened the door and gasped. Whumpee had clearly been tortured, but they were alive. And not bleeding. Whumper had them in standing cuffs, though Whumpee's right shoulder was pulled at an odd angle. "How bad is it? Can you walk?"
Whumpee nodded. "I can. I...I just need you to pop my shoulder back in. I slipped when Whumper....when they....well that doesn't matter. I slipped and it popped out."
Caretaker nodded grimly. "Are you sure? It's going to hurt?" They quickly uncuffed Whumpee.
Whumpee cried out as their right arm fell. "Yeah," they hissed, "I won't be able to run out of here if we don't. Just maneuver it fast, Caretaker. Please."
Caretaker grasped Whumpee's wrist tenderly. "Big breath, Whumpee," and before Whumpee had finished opening their mouth, Caretaker popped their should back into the socket.
Whumpee screamed loudly before their knees buckled. Caretaker caught Whumpee before they could hit the floor. "Whumpee! Say something!"
Whumpee was completely limp in Caretaker's arms. No matter how much Caretaker tried to rouse Whumpee, they remained unconscious, finally succumbing to all the pain they had endured. "Hold on, Whumpee, I'll get you out of here. Just hold on. You're safe. You're safe. I've got you."
The darkness had swallowed up the horizon behind them faster than they thought it would. They were also much slower than they thought they would be.
They had agreed to run towards East, the city had to be that way, and they would surely find a road if they got far enough, maybe past the field of corn, maybe past the woods behind them.
Simón could run a little faster, an adrenaline fuelled sprint was what got him through the field, barely catching himself from falling into the ditch just by the last row of plants.
He held his hand out for Tamara, and helped her cross over to the other side.
There was no road here, just a few of metres of wild bushes and the first couple of weeds of the spring between them and the forest.
"Leandro said-" Tamara winced at hearing his name, so he quickly corrected himself squeezing her hand. "He said we have a headstart until we reach the forest"
Simón tried to calm his breathing as he stared ahead. The sky above the trees was still somewhat light, but he already knew once they run in the forest they won't see anything.
"And you trust him? Huh?" She hissed and pulled him towards the treeline.
They barely took a step away from the ditch when the first gunshot rang through the air.
It didn't matter if either of them believed what the man had said, they just ran.
Their eyes took too long to get used to the darkness, both of them fell and ran into trees and bushes within a couple of minutes, bruising and scratching them up even worse. The corn seedlings had already done a number of them, cutting their skin wherever they hit it through the tears of their scrappy clothes.
Tamara stopped first, leaning on a tree to catch her breath. It took Simón a few moments to notice he couldn't hear her footsteps behind him; he whipped around and ran back to grab her by the hand again.
"We can't stop, mi luz, he's coming after us," he urged, yanking on her hand as hard as he could, but she dug her heels in the ground.
"I will run faster once I caught my breath"
A moment of silence lay between them as they stared at each other, but it was quickly swept away, by their own ragged breathing.
Simón only saw two specks of light reflecting off her eyes, she could've been a shadow if not for that.
A faint, yellow stripe of light appeared a few trees awwy from where they stood, but neither of them noticed until she saw it crawl up on his face.
"Run!" she pushed herself away from the tree and bolted, Simón half a step too late, but he followed her lead. He wasn't sure they were headed East anymore.
They heard the rumble of an engine behind them pull up to the edge of the forest. They weren't nearly as deep as they could have been.
A car door was shut, they could barely hear it over the thudding of their feet, hitting the ground rhythmically, crushing sticks and dry leaves that covered the ground. The whistle was loud enough, and the yelling even louder.
Tamara halted when they passed a wide tree with branches within arms reach, close enough to the ground. "This way," she pulled Simón behind it. She put a finger over her lips, telling him to be quiet, but she wasn't sure he saw it in the dark. He stilled regardless, and they waited.
The people coming after them, hunting them seemed to have quieted too. It was a waiting game to see who made the first move.
Tamara reached up carefully to hold onto the lowest branch, testing if it would hold her weight. When it didn't make a sound, she nudged Simón to help her get up.
He took a step back, losing the cover of the tree trunk for a moment to hold onto her waist and push her.
Two gunshots rang through the quiet of the forest, and they both ended up on the ground. Tamara, disoriented from the fall, checked her torso and legs, looking for any injuries, but they seemed to be fine. She hissed, when she reached a particularly deep scratch on her leg, and quickly pulled ger hand away.
Simón groaned and started to push himself up too, but fell back on the ground. She jumped into action and blindly grabbed for his shoulders.
"It's the left one," he whispered through his teeth, breathing heavily.
She felt blood ooze from a huge wound above his left elbow. "Fuck."
"Go, they'll get you too," he tried to push her away with his good hand, but she didn't budge.
"Did it go straight through or is it still in?" she asked instead, prodding at the bullethole. His arm was slippery, soaking the ground in blood underneath, she couldn't tell if there was an exit wound.
"It doesn't matter! Go!" he almost shouted at her, but she shook her head.
She unbuckled his belt, and yanked it out from under him to loop it around his arm above the injury.
"It won't be tight enough, there aren't enough holes," she announced, on the verge of tears fumbling with the buckle.
Simón looked around, as if the bullet had given him night vision, he expected to see something, but there was only darkness and white spots dancing on the periphery of his vision.
He patted the ground, pushing through leaves and dirt, things sticking to his hand, and bugs, he hoped they were just bugs, crawling up on his skin. He found a stick and pushed it into her hand.
"Here," she struggled to take it away from him.
There was another gunshot and she instinctively hugged Simón, pushing him on the ground, covering him with her body.
It didn't sound like the hunters came any closer, their voices were distant enough to be unintelligible.
Tamara pulled the stick through the belt loop and twisted it around into a makeshift tourniquet.
She jumped up on her feet and pulled Simón up with her by his right arm, nudging him towards the tree.
"You go up first and then pull me up," she said firmly. He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it and reached up with his good hand, while she crouched so he can push himself up from her back.
His heel ground into her spine painfully for a moment too long, before he managed to get himself up. She straightened up slowly and reached for his hand.
It hurt too much to hold on, and she let go of him, only to fall back on the ground.
Another gunshot soared through the air, flying by her ear, hitting the ground behind her, at the same time Simón called out for her, "Mi luz!"
Tamara's entire body shook as she got back up and reached for his hand again, ignoring the pain.
For today's @whumpmasinjuly prompt I decided to go with some Giorno and Abbacchio 'bonding' from my JJBA Part 5 Vampire Hunter AU
@whumpmasinjuly-archive
CW for semi-graphic field surgery
~~~~~~~
“You realize you’re not the one who can heal from drinking blood, right? Or are you so determined to refuse me drinking your blood that you would rather spill it on the ground?”
Abbacchio gritted his teeth, pulling back slightly as Giorno probed the heavily bleeding wound in his shoulder. “Shut it, brat. I saved your ass, didn’t I? You’re not even gonna give me a thank you?”
Giorno gave him a look. “I am grateful, Abbacchio, but I would be even more grateful if you had let me take down the culprit instead of having to dig a bullet out of my comrade before we can finish the mission.”
“I never said you had to stay here and play nursemaid,” the older Hunter growled, gripping his arm as the pain continued. “You could have gone after him.”
Giorno shook his head. “You wouldn’t leave an injured comrade either.” He took out a small knife and a book of matches, lighting one to sanitize the blade.
Abbacchio watched warily, knowing what was coming.
“Do you want something to bite?” Giorno asked.
“Just get it over with.” Abbacchio tilted his head back against the trunk of the tree he was propped up on, clenching his jaw in readiness.
Giorno took a brief steadying breath as he ripped Abbacchio’s sleeve open a little more to have room to work, then inserted the blade into the wound.
Abbacchio choked out a strangled sound, body tensing as he fought the urge to pull away or shove Giorno back. The dhampir worked swiftly however and was soon able to pop the bullet out without much trouble.
“Got it,” he exhaled. “It didn’t hit the bone, so it wasn’t too difficult.”
Abbacchio felt sweat drip down his face, letting out a shuddering exhale. Giorno handed him the bullet, but the older Hunter tossed it aside.
“Thank you,” Giorno said as he cleaned his gloves, then peeled them off to pull a clean handkerchief from his pocket to bind the wound temporarily.
“What the hell are you thanking me for?” Abbacchio demanded.
“It was a silver bullet,” Giorno commented. “You were right, it would have done a lot more damage to me than it did to you.”
Abbacchio rolled his eyes and began to push himself up once Giorno had finished tying the makeshift bandage tightly. The dhampir gave him a hand, pulling him to his feet.
“You’re welcome then,” the older Hunter said gruffly, then amended. “Thanks for digging it out.”
Giorno turned back to their bag of supplies, hiding a small smile. “I can use some of my blood on it if you want.”
“It’s just a flesh wound, I’ve had worse,” Abbacchio grunted. “Come on, then. Let’s see if our runner is still hanging out nearby.”
hiii i am once again back on my grimm bullshit this fine evening. hope you enjoy!
When he hits the ground, the only thing he feels at first is the sudden shock of the air leaving his lungs in a rush. For a second, he simply lies there face down, stunned and winded, and then Hank says, from somewhere above him, “oh, man, that’s not good.”
He tries to push himself up to see what Hank’s talking about, but as soon as he attempts to move his right leg, a white-hot pain shoots through the entire extremity. It hurts, feels like his leg is on fire from the inside out. He very carefully finishes sitting up with a low noise halfway between a groan and a whine.
“I’m no doctor, but that’s definitely broken,” Hank says, which Nick had been able to figure out for himself. If the pain hadn’t been enough, it just looks wrong. Bent unnaturally. He looks away, stares at the trees.
“I’m calling for help, hold on.” Hank pulls out his phone, taps it, walks around in a circle, holds it into the air.
“Damn. No service.”
He tries his radio and gets static in return.
“Think you can walk?” From the tone of his voice, Nick knows they both already know the answer.
Still, he’ll at least try.
He attempts to stand on his left leg, but the moment he moves the right one at all he’s sinking back to the ground, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out.
He shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice.
“Okay,” Hank replies. “Okay. I can’t exactly carry you, it’s gotta be at least two miles to the car.”
“Leave…leave me,” Nick suggests.
Hank looks at him like he thinks Nick’s crazy. “Leave you alone out here with a pissed-off schakal when you can’t even stand? No way in hell.”
Shit! He’d been so distracted by the pain he’d almost forgotten why they’re out here to begin with. Why he’s currently in the situation he’s in—chasing a suspect through the woods. A suspect considered armed and dangerous, with more than just his teeth for weapons.
He should be on his feet. Chasing this guy down, stopping him from hurting anyone else. He tries again, uselessly, to stand.
“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” Hank says, putting a hand on his arm. “I’ll figure something out, just give me a minute.”
After maybe thirty seconds, Hank snaps his fingers. “I knew that wilderness medicine course I took all those years ago would come in handy someday. We’ll make a splint.”
Nick watches as Hank gathers branches, trimming off extra parts with his pocketknife. Eventually, he holds out four solid-looking sticks of similar length.
“That’s part one,” he says. “Now we need padding, if you want this to be the least bit comfortable.”
They sacrifice shirts and jackets to the cause, and the cool air against bare skin provides a welcome counterweight to the fiery hot pain in Nick’s leg.
“And something to secure it,” Hank adds, removing his belt. He takes Nick’s as well, then surveys his supplies.
“We’re ready. Just try and hold still. This probably won’t feel very good.”
Nick nods stiffly and watches as Hank gets to work. First, he wraps Nick’s leg in their discarded clothes. This already hurts quite a bit, though Nick has a suspicion it’s far from the worst step.
“You doing okay?” Hank asks, lining up the sticks, and Nick realizes he’s been holding his breath. He exhales carefully and makes a “get on with it” gesture in lieu of actually answering the question.
It’s the belts that are the worst part. Hank cinches one tightly around Nick’s upper calf and for a second he sees stars.
“Breathe, Nick, it’s alright.”
He tries. His breaths come out shuddering and uneven and his eyes are hot with tears that he refuses to let fall.
“I’m gonna do the other one, okay?”
He makes a vague noise of assent before pain explodes through his leg once more.
For a minute, he just lies on the ground, trying and failing to breathe normally. It hurts. He wants it to stop.
“It’s over,” Hank says softly, and Nick registers a warm hand on his shoulder. “Now we just have to get you out of here.”
Nick nods his understanding. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his head. He’s afraid. What if this doesn’t work?
“Hey,” Hank says, grabbing Nick’s hand and squeezing. “We’re gonna get you out of here. Don’t worry.”
Another nod. He trusts Hank. If Hank says it’ll work, then it’ll work.
Hank gets to his feet, then reaches out his hands. Nick grabs hold of them and lets himself be pulled upright, balancing first on his uninjured leg and then very gingerly placing the freshly splinted one on the ground.
He doesn’t collapse, which is something. It still hurts, and definitely hurts worse than lying down, but it’s bearable.
“Okay,” Hank says, letting go of Nick’s hands and putting an arm behind his waist instead. “Let’s go.”
It’s incredibly slow-going. The path is uneven and often narrow, and while the splint helps, Nick is still putting a large portion of his weight onto Hank. He tries not to, but can’t help it. Sweat drips down his face and he’s all but panting. It hurts.
They’re almost to the car—Nick recognizes a certain tree—when they stumble, just for a second. But it’s enough to knock Nick’s injured leg into a rock, and he can’t bite back the yelp of pain that escapes him.
“We’re almost there, you’re okay,” Hank says. Nick can feel himself shaking.
When the car comes into view at long last, Nick nearly collapses in relief. He manages to avoid this, only collapsing when Hank opens the back door and helps him inside. It’s awkward fitting the splinted leg into the car, but they manage eventually.
The drive out of the woods and to the hospital is quiet. Nick leans against the window and bites the inside of his cheek whenever his leg is jostled by a bump or turn. Hank keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, and Nick refuses to meet his eyes.
It is not until they’re sitting in the hospital parking lot that Nick says something, something he’s been thinking about the whole drive. His voice still sounds not his own.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve—should’ve kept going.”
Hank turns around in his seat, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Should’ve kept chasing him.”
“On a broken leg?”
Nick shrugs. “I’m used to it.”
Hank looks blankly at him. “Chasing down bad guys with a broken bone?”
Nick looks away. “Just—pushing through pain. I’m a Grimm, I’m supposed to—”
“Stop,” Hank says, and his voice is so firm and serious that Nick falls silent immediately. “Nick, you broke your leg. Sure, maybe being a Grimm gives you a higher pain tolerance, but nobody can run on a broken leg. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“He’s still out there because of me.”
“And we’ll find him. Besides, it’s not like we lost him on purpose. It happens.”
“But—”
“Did you mean to break your leg?”
“No.”
Hank raises his eyebrows in a way that Nick knows means, I know you know I’m right.
“Okay,” Nick agrees, quietly. “And—thank you. For getting me out of there.”
“Don’t thank me. Just listen to what the doctor tells you, even if you don’t like it. Now come on, let’s go get you a real splint.”
thanks for reading!! i don't know much about splint making so hopefully this was accurate lol. love ya <33
Carefully, gently, Callisto lifted Evangeline off the alter. But even with her best efforts, the unconscious woman still whimpered in pain as her wings fell limply against the stone floor.
“Cal, over here.”
She looked over to see Julia standing next to a doorway. It seemed to lead into a small side room.
Cradling Evangeline to her chest, Callisto brought her over, still trying not to drag her wife’s wings across the floor too much.
When she crossed the doorway, her heart broke again.
It was a small room. Not much bigger than a storage closet in the barracks. The only things in the room were a wooden bed frame tucked into a corner with a mess of tattered blankets on top of it. No mattress or pillows in sight, just the ratty brown blankets with various stains on them. Not even enough covering to protect from the chill seeping through the stone surrounding them. As she noticed the broken and bent feathers among the pile and scattered on the floor, she knew that this was where Evangeline had been forced to sleep.
A hand rested on her shoulder. “Anger later, mission first.” Julia said.
Callisto nodded shortly, letting out a long, slow breath. “Take my cloak and lay it over the nest.” she ordered. “We need to clean and bind her wounds as best we can for now.”
Julia did as she was told, then, as Callisto set Evangeline down on the cloak, she said, “I’ll find what herbs I can to help.” before disappearing into the laboratory.
Chewing on her lip, Callisto looked over the cuts on Evangeline’s abdomen. They looked more superficial than an immediate danger, thank the gods. And because of her own reckless surge of healing magic to bring her wife back from the brink of death, they looked about half healed already.
The fresh memory of seeing Evangeline so cold and lifeless… Heart barely beating… Breaths so shallow she…
Callisto shook her head, taking in a deep breath and letting it back out again. Emotions later, mission now.
She began to unfasten her armor lifting it up and over her head before setting it down beside the bed. As she did, she noticed another pile of cloth on the floor. Picking it up, she found it was a dress. Somewhat cleaner and less stained than the blankets, it had clearly been patched and mended several times over. Since it was so worn and old, Callisto couldn’t tell what the original color or even style had been. But she could see how well cared for it was.
Folding it, she set the dress down beside Evangeline. It was comforting she could at least give her wife the dignity of being clothed before heading back to camp.
Then she took her own shirt off, the undershirt following it. As she began tearing the undershirt into strips, Julia came back with a bowl full of green past.
“Bastard didn’t have much that wasn’t tainted with dark magic.” Julia said. “But I managed to find enough for a salve of sorts. It’ll numb some of the pain, at least. And keep things from becoming infected. I hope.” she muttered.
Callisto nodded as Julia got to work carefully cleaning the cuts with water from their flasks and a cloth she’d probably found somewhere before applying the salve. Part of Callisto hoped that caring for Evangeline’s wounds this early on meant they wouldn’t be much, if any, scarring left behind. At least… not physically.
When Julia finished, she and Callisto propped Evangeline up between them so Callisto could wrap the makeshift bandages around her torso. Other than a few twitches in her brow, the avian woman didn’t react in her unconscious state.
After they laid her back down on her side, Julia put her hand on Callisto’s arm again. “Emrik is still looking for anything that can help us find out what the Mage’s plans were in the lab. I’m going to make sure we can get out of here.” she murmured. “Though with the Mage gone, we might be home free.”
“Stay safe.” Callisto rasped. She was still trying to fight off her exhaustion. Not that she was sitting down, it felt like a losing battle.
Julia gave her a grim smile and pat her arm before leaving the couple alone in the small, cold, stone room.
It's time to create! Use today's theme as your inspiration in whatever way you see fit: is there an emergency situation in which field medicine is needed to save a life? Are dire circumstances requiring some last-minute patching up?
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