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the stitches were gonna come out eventually anyway

Summary:

Tango is an off-duty hero recovering from severe injuries on his last patrol. The building next to his apartment gets exploded and he can't just sit and watch.

Or,

Tango is injured and tries to help so everyone lectures him.

Whumptober prompt: Bleeding through bandages

Notes:

DISCLAIMER: I do not write hermitshipping so if you're going to read any of my fics in that way just know that I don't want to hear about it and it will get your comment deleted. Platonic affection is very special and important to me and I think people need to be less strict about what platonic love is allowed to look like.

ALSO please note that as I have to write 31 of these prompts I don't have the time to edit them, so there will be mistakes, and I don't mind if you point them out! (I'll go back and fix them usually). But I don't take criticism on my works. Ever :)

WARNINGS: blood, injury, explosions, death, stitches. Let me know if I missed any!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Tango was on what he called “house arrest” and Skizz called “bed arrest”. He had been badly injured in the last patrol he went on and was discharged from work for the next few weeks. The short of it was that he had stitches everywhere. In his side, stretching to the front of his stomach. In his right arm—the deepest cut—in his calf, a spot on the back of his shoulder. It was a long story but there were many knives involved. He was bruised and battered and recovering from a concussion.

So when the explosion from the neighboring apartment building rang out and Tango jumped into action, he could almost hear the others lecturing him. Tango rushed to pull on his protective vest, holsters, and earpiece. He didn’t have time to bother with a full costume but grabbed his mask on the way out. He flung his window open and landed on the fire escape outside. From there, he jumped onto the neighbouring one and climbed to the roof.

The explosion had hit from the corner, over the street and away from Tango’s apartment. Rubble fell onto the street below. Small collisions littered the street, a few cars drove off anyway, some people got out of their vehicles to run. Tango couldn’t fully see it, but considering the looks on the civilians’ faces and the sound of breaking and crushing below him… the floors could collapse. He hoped the whole building would stay standing.

Tango pressed his thumb to the keypad of the bulkhead’s door. It opened, the screen reading “hero.” Tango ran in and jumped down the steps. He hit the wall and turned into the first hallway of rooms. There was no hole here, not much rubble, the explosion had hit lower. This meant that it likely hadn’t come from the sky—likely not a major villain.

Tango hoped that if there was anyone left on this floor, they were smart enough to take the stairs furthest away from the explosion. He didn’t have time to knock on every door. Tango ran down the next set of steps, then the next, looking for the floor that was the worst off. It was the third floor. One room was entirely blown apart at the end of the hall. An assassination?

Tango sprinted that way and yelled as he passed other doors, “Take the south stairs! South stairs should be safe!”

There was no smoke, but enough dust for Tango’s eyes and lungs to sting anyway. He really didn’t want to be the first one to report this attack… he was not supposed to engage. But the heroes needed information. Damn it.

Tango clicked his earpiece and said, “This is Tek responding to an explosion on Ember Street.”

Tango entered the dismantled door frame of the blown apart room. There was a hole in the floor, large enough to span most of the living space and kitchen, stretching to the wall that faced the street. The wall that was no longer there. The ceiling had caved in, leaving the room above exposed.

Tango’s eyes landed on a body on top of the rubble in the room on the floor below him. Under the rubble, two hands stuck out. Water leaked toward the pile from out of sight. Tango bent over on his hands and knees to see below, trying to judge if the floor would hold. He didn’t have time to waste and jumped to the floor. It shifted beneath his feet.

“Double responding. Tek, you need to get out of there.”

“Too late,” Tango said, cringing at the pull of his stitches.

He hurried toward the pile of rubble, reaching up instead of climbing, to pull the person on top of it down. They had a bleeding wound in the back of their head, for now, Tango laid them close to the wall. Next, he took hold of a hand buried under the rubble. He wiggled his fingers under rock and cement to feel for a pulse.

Tango closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Nothing. He clenches his jaw and moved onto another hand on the other side of the rubble. He waited long enough to feel the faintest thump. He gasped, clicked his earpiece, then began removing rubble as quickly and delicately as he could.

“I have one dead, two unconscious and heavily injured, apartment six fifteen.”

Double to Tek, I’m on my way in.”

Tango you need to leave, seriously,” Etho said, void of professionalism. “Ladders, responding.

A fantastic piece of news considering Tango was getting too tired to move this rubble. He had uncovered the upper half of this person’s body. They were littered with bruises and gashes. It was a young adult-ish female, maybe they only looked older because of the blood. Tango severely hoped they only woke up once he got them out of the building.

He lifted a particularly heavy slab of cement, then both heard and felt the stitches in his side and back rip. He let out a loud, pained sound and strained not to drop the slab back onto the person below him.

Double to all heroes, we have two bombers on the second floor.

“More?” Tango grunted, dropping the slab to the side.

Jumbo responding.

Solidarity responding.

Tango dug back into the rubble, wincing at the feeling of blood running down his wounds. Everyone was going to be so pissed. The hand before Tango twitched, and all of his self-concern was thrown away. He knelt by the person’s head, leaning down to meet their eyes. They didn’t open.

“Hey,” he said softly, taking their hand, “I’m Tek, I’m a hero and I’m here to help.”

They squeezed his hand back. He looked up at the other person lying on the ground. He needed to help them too but he couldn’t do this all alone. Bdubs and Etho were busy tracking the other bombers down—he had to figure something out.

“I need you to hang tight, I’m not leaving, I just need to check on someone.”

Tango squeezed their hand and headed toward the person with the head wound, avoiding looking at the other hand protruding from the rubble. He knelt by this person’s side and felt for a pulse on their neck. Weak, but there.

Tango you need to leave the building immediately, more explosions could still go off,” Jimmy said. “We’re almost there. Just leave.

“I have two people with me who need help and I haven’t checked the whole area yet.”

We are nearly there. You need to get out, we can’t lose you.

“I’ll be fine,” Tango spat.

How could they ask him to leave injured civilians here? It was his job to save them—he was here to get injured in their place. This was his job. This was what he lived for.

Tango snapped to his feet to find any kind of fabric to keep against the head of the civilian lying by the wall. He came back with a pillow case from the half-crushed couch. He wasn’t supposed to move them, probably, but he made the exception and they didn’t wake or wince. He left them lying again to check back in on the person under the rubble.

When he stood straight his vision blurred. He stretched a hand out to hold something but nothing was there. He stumbled and doubled over to lean his hands on his knees and breathe. Once everything came back to him and the dizziness fled, he scrambled back to the rubble. He felt again for a pulse. It was so weak.

Tango pulled at the rubble, this time making the person below it wince and groan. They barely had the strength to make sound, but understood not to move. He spoke softly to them, assuring them that he wasn’t leaving. He got to the point of having all but their calves uncovered when someone barrelled into the room.

“Tango!” Mumbo called. “You need to—”

“Help,” Tango grunted, trying to lift the heaviest piece yet.

Mumbo gasped and rushed over. Together they strained to move the rubble. Tango nearly dropped it on his toes. Then, he removed the last few small pieces of rubble over them. As he bent down to pick the person up, Mumbo grabbed him cautiously by the sides and pulled him back.

Leave,” Mumbo said sternly. “I have it from here. Get outside to medical.”

Mumbo gingerly pulled the person under the rubble further out. They couldn’t wait for paramedics to get up here with spinal boards and collars. It was life over limb, so Mumbo pulled this person into his arms. Tango ignored his orders and headed for the person with the injury.

“Tango, I’m serious. Leave now, you’re being reckless.”

Tango hauled the civilian into his arms, turned to glare at Mumbo, then headed for the blown out door. A huge cracking sound split Tango’s head from one ear to the other. Something crashed behind him and dragged him down. He fell into the next floor and heard Mumbo yelp. Tango wheezed. He wheezed for a long few seconds and couldn’t take a breath in.

“Tango—Tango!”

Tango clutched at his chest, eyes blown wide. Mumbo’s face appeared above him, then his hand cupped Tango’s cheek.

“You just got the wind knocked out of you,” he said gently, “that’s all. Convince your body to take a breath, you’re fine.”

Tango moved his mouth to make words and nothing came out. Nothing went in. Mumbo lightly rubbed his arm and spoke into their comms. Tango blinked hard and choked, then coughed.

“Ah, I know—try, Tango, just keep trying to take a breath.”

Tango’s chest stung and squeezed. Tears began fogging up his eyes. He turned his head quickly, trying to find the person he’d been holding and the one Mumbo had been holding—they were both lying limply on the ground.

Tango, come on mate.”

Tango finally gulped in a huge breath of air, lightheaded at the force of it. He wrenched his eyes shut, blew out small sputtering breaths, then took another long and deep drag of air.

“Good, good, stay still. I’m going to wrap up what I can.”

Mumbo pulled rolls of gauze and bandages out of his pockets. Tango should have thought to grab his own before he left. Stupid.

Tango shook his head, “the civilians—”

“Are not my priority right this second.”

“It’s our job,” Tango huffed, cringing at the pain in his chest and back—and everywhere.

“Protocol says in the midst of an emergency, heroes are treated first.”

“Only so we can keep going—you’re going to make me leave.”

“Protocol as your friend puts you first.”

Mumbo pressed gauze against Tango’s side and stomach. He lifted Tango suddenly by the shoulders, making Tango cry out. He landed against Mumbo’s chest, who shushed him softly, and wrapped bandages hastily around Tango’s middle. It was shoddy work, better than nothing. He left the wound on Tango’s back alone, unable to reach it past his shirt and vest.

“Please, Mumbo, we have to help them,” Tango whispered.

You will not. Help is on the way. Stay put.”

Mumbo laid Tango back, trying not to set him on any sharp rubble, and checked on both of the people limply lying by them. He checked for their pulses. When he didn’t say anything, Tango sat up, groaning at the pain and nausea. Mumbo snapped something at him but Tango wasn’t listening. He crawled a few paces toward the person he’d been carrying. As he reached toward their neck to feel a pulse, Mumbo snatched his wrist and pulled him away.

“Stay. Down.” Mumbo pushed Tango back into lying on the floor. “Skizz is almost here. Etho and Bdubs have incapacitated the culprits. Do not complicate things.”

“Are they dead?” Tango rasped.

“Save your energy.”

Tango sluggishly pushed himself up again. This time, Mumbo caught him in a hug and didn’t let go. Tango struggled for two seconds before losing his energy and slumping into Mumbo, chin hooked over his shoulder.

“You have ripped all of your stitches, you probably have a bruised rib or five, and you’re already bleeding through your bandages. I need you to cooperate with me.”

“Did I even save them?”

Mumbo sighed and rubbed his thumb over Tango’s back. “You should have stayed home. Just relax.”

“Mumbo!” Skizz called from above them.

“Here! You need to take him quickly,” Mumbo called back.

Skizz flew down with flared white wings and landed on light feet. He dropped to one knee next to Tango and Mumbo and replaced Mumbo’s hand on his back. Mumbo pulled away, guiding Tango into Skizz’s arms. Skizz pulled him close and slipped an arm under his knees, then stood. Mumbo stood too but quickly headed for the nearest person—body?—on the ground.

Skizz took off and flew Tango into the open air. It was still messy with dust and debris. They touched down on a sidewalk a ways away. Tango expected to be put on his feet and dragged toward the nearest medic but Skizz walked while carrying him. While they walked, Jimmy rushed over with a gasp.

“Your stitches!” he worried, hands flitting over Tango.

“Oops,” Tango breathed, head lolling into Skizz’s chest. “Put me down.”

“No,” Skizz said sternly. “You should not have gone in there. I know you were the closest hero but you were off duty.

Jimmy pressed his earpiece and frowned, hesitated before running off to reenter the building with the other heroes.

“I couldn’t just stand by,” Tango whispered.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Skizz said, carrying Tango into an ambulance with the help of paramedics. “Were you hurt anywhere else?”

“I—I don’t know?”

“That’s okay. Relax buddy.”

Skizz made room for the paramedics but Tango didn’t see much from there on.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Still slowly working my way through whumptober but I am just about the busiest I've ever been so have patience.

While you wait consider reading...
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Reckless Joel h/c
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Etho hurt/comfort

Finally, have some water and read this informational document full of links and resources on palestine, sudan, congo, haiti, yemen, lebanon and hawai’i!

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