𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐤é𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐫. | [Various/Reader] | POKÉMON

07 | WOUNDED IN ACTION

𝐩𝐨𝐯.: 𝐲/𝐧

"CYRUS!"

I shoot before my brain has even caught up with what's happening. I cover his position as I push us both to the side, tackling him to the ground. Our impact is rather ungentle, the hard mud doing nothing to soften our fall. We roll apart, then come to a halt. Bewildered, Cyrus looks up, the shootout between the two armies still ringing in his ears. 

In the distance, where I had shot at, two men lie. They had surrounded our position in hopes to catch us off guard. And in some way, they did.

Breathing a few times hard, his eyes land on me again.

"Y/n?!" Concern laces his voice. Fear.

I lie an armlength away from him, on my stomach. Sweat pearls on my forehead. "I'm good," I rasp out. "...What was that?"

Cyrus stares at me for a long moment, overwhelmed himself by the emotions that had just washed over him.

But my mind was somewhere else. Those things they shot at us... they were no ordinary bullets. I couldn't make out what they are, everything went too fast. But I knew they were different from normal calibers. I've been shooting for long enough to know.

Cyrus scrambles to his knees the same time I jump up. I'm quick with my movements. I only notice seconds later, as the feeling rumbles over me, mercilessly.

Cyrus is about to speak up, when my yelp of pain stops him dead in his tracks. His head snaps over to me, petrified by my outcry. I lean forward, hands pressing against my stomach where the blood is pooling from.

Not a second later, Cyrus is there besides me, one arm across my back, the other hand pressing against mine. I call out in pain.

I stare with wide eyes at the red spot on my stomach, steadily growing bigger.

It happened.

It happened, after all this time. I was finally shot in battle. I lose my breath, gasping quietly. "Oh fuck,- oh fuck oh fuck-"

Cyrus hisses too. My face twists into one of agony. I had been hit? It didn't feel like it.

But now the pain seems to catch up with me one by one, growing in intensity. Both of us duck as enemy fire becomes stronger. Bullets land in the floor besides us and Cyrus is quick to pull me further in direction backline. Adrenaline and pain fight over reign as I stumble behind him, one hand securely clutching the wound on my stomach.

The sounds don't make sense. I have never heard these kinds of calibers. They weren't loud, just barely noticeable. As though it was no explosion that pressed them out the barrel.

What the hell is that?

I had never seen Cyrus really panic, so it catches me off guard when I hear him yell with strained voice, "Just a little further!" He steadies me as we stumble down the battlefield, loud explosions ringing in our ears. Something big's happening. 

After an agonizingly long run, finally, we reach cover. I fall down to my knees no second later, Cyrus' hands on me the whole way. I lie against a a couple of rocks, their shapes uncomfortable against my head and back. He stares at me, at my bleeding side, not knowing what to do. He doesn't know what to do. 

Cyrus fights. Cyrus never had to care for any wounded. Wounded did not interest him, he was no medic. Fighting was all that ever proved of any worth. Cyrus was a man that could only save by fighting.

But all that has long changed since then. He has to care for me now.
Now more than ever.

More pained grunts escape my lips, the pain overwhelming.