PartyGhoul Oneshots

What Were You Thinking?

Genre: none

Summary: Party gets hurt.

Saying Party Poison was stubborn would be an insult to the word stubborn. The leader of the Fabulous Four figured he could handle everything under the desert sun completely alone. He had a whole team, but he needed no one by his side. According to how he acted, at least.

No one was built to grab the whole world by its horns and wrangle it into submission. That was a truth he refused to face. As much as he valued the others, he wouldn't accept their help; whether out of pride, stupidity, embarrassment, or all of the above. He had an insatiable urge to be a vigilante when there was no practical need.

As such, he'd decided that going on a supply run by himself was a wonderful idea. He'd grabbed the keys one morning and weaseled his way out of the diner to top off their food supplies. As one could predict, it hadn't ended well. One person can only do so much against a team of Dracs thirsting for the opportunity to blow a Killjoy's brains out.

He threw the door open and staggered inside, trying to keep from collapsing. The exhaustion and pain were a nasty combination, and he found it difficult to stay on his feet. The cheerful jingle of the old bell they'd kept over the door was an ironic contrast to his situation.

There was a raygun wound on his upper arm, graciously placed there by a Draculoid. If he hadn't moved at just the right moment, the blast could've easily buried itself in his heart. The near-ghost experience left his muscles twitching as his fight-or-flight urges refused to die down. He clutched the wound, trying to keep pressure on it- he'd driven home one-handed, nearly swerving off the road a few times as he grew increasingly lightheaded. Luckily for him, traffic didn't tend to be too dense.

He'd sloppily wrapped it with a piece of fabric torn from his shirt. It burned like a son of a bitch. His arm hung limp at his side, needles of pain branching from the impact and digging into his nerves.

And who was in one of the booths but Fun Ghoul, his eyebrows raised as he took in the dirty, shaking, sweat-covered mess that Party had become. He had the expression of a parent who'd caught their kid sneaking out through their bedroom window.

Party swore under his breath as they locked eyes. He had hoped to sneak his way in and pretend he'd been there the whole time. The bullet hole would be hard to explain, but surely he would figure something out.

Honestly, he wouldn't have minded being confronted by Jet or, Destroya forbid, even Kobra. Fun was the last of the three he could have hoped to see first.

As much as he liked his boyfriend- if he didn't, he wouldn't be his boyfriend, now would he- he wasn't looking forward to the lecture coming his way. He knew it was all because Fun cared. If anything, that made it worse.

"And just where the hell have you been?" Fun greeted him sharply. Party huffed, swaying unsteadily.

"Out."

"Oh, really," Fun replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Even so, there was a sense of urgency about him. He could tell by the strained look on Party's face and the hand around his bloody shoulder that something was wrong. "Sit. Now."

He couldn't argue with that. He resisted his mind's agenda to sabotage his body and slid into the seat across from Fun, quietly wincing.

He couldn't deny that it felt nice to rest in the (relative) safety of the diner. He released a shaky breath, leaning his head back.

Fun stared him down and tried to assess what had happened. It wasn't difficult to infer. "You got ambushed,"

"Obviously." Party sighed. "Look, I went out to get supplies and got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I made it back, I'm fine, I can deal with it. Just let me-"