𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐄 | [VARIOUS/Reader] | POKÉMON

VIII

8.
HUMAN

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pov. cyrus
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It didn't hurt bad, no. I lived through things that had pained me much more. Sometimes in less literal ways.

Blood tends to make humans panicky. The more, the worse. And although people are right to feel so,-- it's rather... counterproductive. Shaking hands don't help with the situation. Neither does overwhelm.

I would be lying though, if I'd say her panicked face wouldn't make me feel the way it does.

I felt... genuinely cared for. The panic in her eyes made it seem like I'm worth something. To her. That I'm one of the few people she can't lose. And I recognize the feeling that spreads through my chest all too well, even when I've never had the urge to explore it before.

I never wanted to-, though that has changed. With her, I can imagine a future doing the things I've sworn off to. The emptiness that stays after it's all over is harsh,- and yet, I know she must be worth the pain.

Y/n drags me across the entire camp and direction med bay, although a little bite such as this had never killed anyone. It would have definitely killed my partner, though bites on humans had proved to not infect our DNA. It hurts like crazy- but it does not kill us.

She storms med bay. Yells at the doctors who seem to have been sleeping. I'm not blaming them- their patients are stable and asleep? Why shouldn't they be allowed to have some time for themselves then? Though, it doesn't bother y/n.

We are assigned a room, and are told the doctor would arrive in a few minutes. After hiding her scowl rather poorly, y/n drags me with her into said room.

Instead of letting me sit down however, I'm surprised by her actions. She grabs the stretcher and pulls it across the room in direction sink. Pushing it up against the ceramic bowl, she motions for me to sit down.

I do.

"Take off your shirt."

It takes me a moment to process her words. Then I utter a careful, "What?"

"We need to wash out your wound. I ain't gonna wait for it to infect, we do this now."

I feel warmth travel up my neck. And I know it's not coming from the wound. I don't notice I'm staring at her until I realize she's looking away and I see the blush creeping up her own face.

"C'mon, don't make this more awkward than it already is."

It is?

I blink a few more times, then carefully begin to work down my harness and shoulder plates. I do struggle with the shirt, which gains her attention.

"Wait, let me cut it down the middle. It's wasted anyways."

She grabs a pair of cloth scissors from the drawer and makes quick work of it. Some of the shirt sticks to the flesh on my wound. She somehow manages to pick it all off. As she places the scissors aside and returns, I notice her gaze is stubbornly resting on either the floor or my face.

"Okay, lay down. On the sink. Your shoulder should be beneath the faucet."

I obey without a word. I slide backwards up the stretcher until I lay with my head and upper body on the edges of the sink. I see her stand above me. My heart beats so strong, I feel my pulse pound in my neck.

"I'm sorry Cyrus." I'm surprised how genuinely defeated she sounds. Her face pulls into a pained one. "This will hurt."

"Don't worry,"

"You sound a lot calmer than me." She laughs. Though, her voice lacks humour.

"There's things that hurt much more. But I won't pretend like you don't know."

You've struggled so much in your short life.

I see her drench the soft sponge in mild soap. Her next reach is for the tap.

She puts it on. As warm water pours over my shoulder, I feel an instant sting travel all the way through my body. The pain radiates into neck and chest, and it gets even worse once she begins to rub over the wound with the sponge.

I do notice how gentle she tries to be. And although I'm busy hiding the obvious pain, I appreciate it.

"Geez, it's still bleeding," I hear her mutter. "If you hadn't worn your protection, the Ninetales would've ripped your shoulder straight to shreds."

"I hope that encourages you to wear your own protection properly now."

"I am."

"Care to show me your shin protection then?"

Her eyes squint further, clearly unamused.

"No, I don't."

"That's 'cause you're not wearing it. The thing that happens to a shoulder can be done to a leg too."

As I slowly accommodate to the pain, her touch sticks out much more than the stinging. The one hand that grasps my shoulder while the other continues to wash the wound. How it digs into my muscles, strong but not painful.

And as she lays the sponge aside and rinses the blood off my shoulder, I marvel. How her skin feels like this foreign touch against my own. How her hands are so much colder than mine, the ice in her fingers, and yet it gave me the warmth I've missed for so long.

I can't stop my eyes from closing. The caress feels soothing. Which is odd since I know the pain should be much more vivid than this.

"You've done a noble thing, risking your life for your partner."

"You try telling me you wouldn't have done the same?"

I open an eye to see her frown. Her lips press into a thin line. It's answer enough. My lips twitch.

"You've always been criminally bad at lying. Don't even try to."

"I'm not that bad," she murmurs quietly. I know she realizes herself.

"People who don't lie are much more charming anyways,"

"Oh, now you're just messing with me." She scoffs a quiet laugh. It feels right this time.

The doctor comes in a little later, surprised to find his work already done halfway. With the wound washed, all left to do is smear an antibiotic ointment over the sore wound. After that, he wraps it up with a sterile, blood stilling bandage. I'm told to come in to visit every two days from now on, to check for any signs of infection.

I report back to Lance hours later. Y/n is sent out before being able to say anything, but even then, he still wants me to stay off duty for a few days. Recovering, he calls it.

It doesn't feel like I have any other chance but to. And pissing off y/n would only make my situation worse. She might even be the only reason I'm actually staying home.

The week that ensues is hard to live through. I sit at home with no objective to fulfil and no one to talk to. I do some sport, train those muscles that don't need rest. I clean the wound once a day with great effort. I do some shopping. Boring stuff, really.

I keep my pager on, day and night, just in case hell breaks loose. Just in case they need my help. Just in case.

We used to think that case would never happen. And when it did, we weren't ready. Nowadays everyone is waiting for it to happen again. I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing.

Twelve days in that same boring manner pass before I'm allowed to return to my duties. Finally.

And with great joy, the first time in weeks that I see her in battle attire, I notice y/n has started to wear her protection properly once again.