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Tucker sat on the ground, one hand on his bleeding stomach, the other clutching his sword with all the energy he had left. Which, he was realizing with some horror, wasn’t much and would not last for very much longer. He didn’t even have enough to keep standing.
He felt someone close. Too close. Close enough to attack. He had his sword out and ready to swing. The person was talking to him. He was pretty sure he could hear a voice just past the loud buzzing and ringing in his head. Maybe they were taunting him. Mocking him for getting stabbed again.
Felix would do exactly that. Maybe it was Felix. Knowing that asshole, he would absolutely come back just to pull some kinda horseshit like that.
Tucker took a swing of his sword. His movement was clunky and off center. He felt the blood running through the fingers on his side.
The swing must have pissed off his assailant as the person grabbed his wrist to stop him. Tucker tried to pull back, swinging the weapon with the little movement he could.
His attacker wouldn’t have it. They twisted his wrist painfully, causing Tucker to drop his only source of protection.
Tucker could feel his body shaking. Maybe it was from the blood loss. Or the panic. He really couldn’t be sure. He knew he was yelling, but he couldn’t focus enough to know what exactly he was saying. Not that he could understand what the other was saying, either.
His attacker forced his arm to the ground. Bringing Tucker down with it.
The blue tried to use his other hand to fight against it. Punching and clawing at the hand and trying to aim for the face, he could hardly see. His vision was blurred and shaky. It looked dark and with stripes of warmth. It really is Felix.
This thought only caused Tucker to fight harder. Now kicking and screaming. He wouldn’t let this bastard take him out like this. They had to save Chorus. All those kids. All those innocent kids. They needed him to win. They needed Tucker’s plan to work.
The man that Tucker believed to be Felix grabbed his free arm and slammed it to the ground with the first. He fought both wrists into one hand.
Tucker didn’t remember Felix being this strong. It scared him. Felix having a free hand was terrifying. There was no telling what he could do. What he would do.
He felt Felix sit on his legs, clearly trying to get Tucker to stop kicking.
This only made him more frantic. Pushing and shoving his body around to do anything to get away. Get Felix to let him go. He pulled and tugged and slammed and kicked and screamed.
Felix’s free hand moved to his helmet. He pulled on the latches, getting the piece of armor undone, before tugging it off his head. He’s gonna slit my fucking throat.
If Tucker could just get out of his grasp. He couldn’t stop fighting. Despite that, he felt dizzy and sick. He felt like his body was two seconds from giving out on him. He just had to get away. He had to get back to the others. He had to make sure the recording was out. Where was Church? Why wasn’t Church in his head telling him stupid probabilities and screaming through the coms for help?
Why weren’t any of his coms going off in response to him screaming bloody murder?
When Felix got the helmet off, Tucker didn’t even have time to think before the hand was on his face, trying to hold it still. He could feel the pricking of grass under the skin of his neck.
Tucker’s eyes and ears still weren’t focused but Felix’s yelling was closer now. Was Felix’s helmet off too? Why would he have taken off his helmet? Was his hair blond? Felix doesn’t have blonde hair.
Tucker tried to focus his vision. He blinked away the tears that were blurring everything. When had he started crying?
It was definitely blonde hair and blue eyes looking back at him. Neither of which Felix had. But he knew a strong man with a dark suit and stripes that did. He just had to remember who that was.
Unfortunately, all he could think about was Felix. He had to think about someone else. He had to figure out who this person was. He didn’t think the blonde would hurt him. Whoever it was he was trying to think about wasn’t someone that normally caused him panic.
Now that he thought about it, despite the rough treatment, the man was almost gentle with him. His hands were firm, but they didn’t seem to hurt him more. They were only holding him.
Not to mention he was sure Felix would have just tried to break his legs instead of sit on them.
This was definitely not Felix.
It wasn’t Felix. He had established that. Now he just had to figure out who was holding on to him.
The person was still talking to him. He was shouting at him. What was he saying? He tried to listen. It sounded like his name. The ringing in his ears calmed, as did the buzzing in his head. It was definitely his name being shouted out at him.
And the voice was familiar. It was safe.
Tucker wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he knew the voice was someone safe. He let his body calm down. He still struggled here and there. His body was still stiff. He looked at the blonde. His eyes came back to focus.
“Tucker! Tucker, please. You need to breathe. It’s Wash.”
“Wash?” he choked out. Wash was blonde. And he had blue eyes. And Tucker was pretty sure he had a safe voice. Wash. It was Wash.
“Yeah, yeah it’s me.” The hand on Tucker’s face instantly became much more gentle. Wash’s thumb running against his skin. “I need you to focus on me for a second.”
“Wash,” Tucker sobbed out. “It’s Felix. He—he stabbed me. I—I don’t know where Church is. The video. We have to—I don’t know if the video got out.”
Wash’s eyes sparked with an understanding before he shook his head. “Tucker, breathe. Felix is dead. Remember?” His hands loosened on Tucker’s wrists but didn’t fully let go just yet. “Chorus is safe. We won their battle years ago. Felix isn’t here. Your plan worked and Chorus is safe.”
Tucker felt lost. Wash wouldn’t lie to him. Not about this. And it was Wash holding him. Wash was trying to keep him safe. Wash was always trying to keep him safe.
“What is your name?”
Tucker blinked at him. “What?”
“Your name. Tell me your name.”
“L-Lavernious Tucker.”
“What’s my name?”
“D—” Tucker stopped. “Washington. Agent Washington.”
Wash nodded. “Can you tell me where you are?”
Tucker looked around them. It wasn’t Chorus. That’s what Wash had said. Chorus was safe. “I don’t—I don’t—”
“It’s okay,” Wash stopped him. He rubbed his thumb against Tucker’s cheek again. Despite the rough texture of his suit, it was still comforting. “You’re on Earth.”
“Earth?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I need you to really help me here, Tucker. You’re injured, and we gotta get you back on your feet.”
“I—I got stabbed, Wash,” Tucker choked out. “It was F—” he stopped. It wasn’t Felix. Felix was dead. They were on Earth.
“Charon sent people after us. Remember?”
He did. He was starting to, at least. There was a small group of mercenaries that were sent after them for whatever twisted idea of revenge the businessman had in mind for them. Apparently, it involved trying to kill them.
“That fucker with the white armor.”
Wash nodded. “Yeah, he was one of them. Here, I need to get to your wound.”
Tucker looked around them as Wash moved to take off his armor. They were in a wooded area. He forced himself to focus on how the hell they’d gotten there. It was the guys that were after them, that was for sure. He vaguely remembered running and hiding. Using the trees both for protection and an upper hand. But he couldn’t wrap his head around much anything else at the moment. Especially not any specifics.
Wash only took off the front plate, clearly ready to smash it back on the moment he was done. Tucker looked down at the wound and instantly felt dizzy.
The knife had gotten between the panels in his armor and through his kevlar. He was bleeding. A lot.
“I need to give this emergency stitches before any of them find us. Then we can get you out of here.”
“You what?” hissed the blue. “Hell no, man. I am not letting you stab me more.”
“Don’t think of it like that,” Wash sighed. “If you freak yourself back into a panic, we’re just gonna have a bigger issue on our hands.” He pulled out a small pocket kit and tore into the kevlar to get a better reach of the injury.
Tucker watched him prep a needle and thread and definitely felt sick. He didn’t even know Wash knew how to do any of this. He really didn’t expect to get field stitches ever, though.
The blonde looked back at him. “This is going to suck,” he said, grabbing the durag off Tucker’s head and shoving it into his face. “Bite down on this.”
Tucker blinked before hissing out, “Dude, I am not fucking putting that in my mouth! It’s been on my sweaty ass head all day!”
“It’s this or you scream and give away our location more than we already have.”
He frowned, looking at Wash with a challenge in his eyes. Finally, he sighed and snatched the cloth from his hands. “I’m sure you’d like to hear me screaming, bow-chicka-bow-wow,” he grumbled before shoving it in his mouth.
He was thankful he did as he felt the needle plunge into his skin almost immediately after. His jaw clenched so hard he was almost afraid he would break a tooth. He let out a loud groan and let his head slam back into the earth behind him.
Wash tried to go as fast and painless as possible. But there was only so much he could do in their situation. With each stitch, Tucker slammed his fist into the ground. His eyes shut tight from the pain.
Finally, after what felt like a hellish eternity, Wash snapped the string and started shoving the equipment back in its containment. He lockedTucker’s armor back in place and helping to pull the rag from his mouth.
Once Tucker was put back together, Wash got to his feet. “Can you stand?”
“Great fuckin’ question,” Tucker sighed out. He felt exhausted. As if he’d just run a 5k in a desert with no water. He grasped Wash’s hand so the other could help pull him to his feet. He stumbled a bit, but Wash kept him up.
“We need to get out of here. We’re pushing out luck the longer we stay where they can come back for us.”
His mind becoming more clear by the second. “‘Kay.” Tucker leaned against Wash. He reveled in the other’s presence, thankful that it really wasn’t Felix, or anyone else, that had found him in such a state. But instead someone who understood and knew how to help him. “Lead the way, hero.”