Top Gun: You Can Be My Wingman (Maverick X Reader)

Found

*slight mentions of suicide, but no actual suicide*
By now, the pain has become a constant companion, a permanent problem I've come to ignore, despite having the knowledge that it is slowly destroying the use of one limb and possibly my back. Every time I check, the wounds seem to be a million times worse than before, both having layers of discoloured and festering tissue surrounding them. My movement is slow and uncoordinated, my limbs tired and lethargic, my mind even more so. But I've kept going, for how long I'm not sure, I lost count after seven days, my patience wearing thin.
The glaring sun beats down on my back, warming the helmet in my hand as well as my grimy body, causing yet more discomfort to my weary muscles. Sweat coats my brow, sticking my greasy hair to my skin, only moving when I lift a shaking hand to push it out of my face, the matted strands laced with dust and dirt, despite my best (though feeble) efforts to wash it in the water I came across. In my head, I promised myself that I'd take a nice long shower when I got back, my mind often straying to that fantasy of hot, clean water and a set of new clothes to get into after. That and the thought of seeing my friends again.
Since finding Matthew's body, my mindset has been grim, depressed and often suicidal, though I have kept myself from doing so, often reminding myself that I have more time left on the earth with people who care about me. I remember all the times I spent with Maverick, or Pete as he asked me to call him, and Goose, as well as the latter's loving family, having a laugh and a drink together on our time off training, Matthew sometimes joining us but other times choosing to go with Iceman and Slider, the cocky pilots we contend with.
The impression of a smile passes briefly, very briefly, over my face at the memory, my mood temporarily lightening as I carry on over the hill ahead of me. The ground is rough and uneven, stones falling away under my boots as I place my feet on them. There's a familiar noise coming from the other side of the summit, like loud engines being used continuously. If I had any motivation, I'd say it was the sound of jets taking off, but I know it's wishful thinking.
A cry leaves my chapped lips, or tries to, as I suddenly lose my footing, falling onto my already scratched and scraped hands with a grunt of pain, a stab of discomfort stinging my open wounds. Hauling myself up, I grit my teeth and carry on, reaching the top of the hill relatively quickly in my state, taking the opportunity to look out at the surroundings.
My heart leaps as I recognise the familiar airbase. I did it! I found my way back!
Sighing, I watch as the planes fly around, one coming in to land as I do so. Adjusting the helmet in my hand, I wince slightly as the sun catches on the glass visor and blinds me as I face it towards myself, knowing that at least the landing pilots will have seen it.
With a little more vigour, I start limping down the slope, dragging my unwilling body as quickly as it will go, the thought of seeing my friends again driving me forwards, hope beginning to flare up in me again.
It takes me around half an hour to reach the bottom, by which time all the other jets have landed and driven to the hangers, my limbs sore and even more painful than before due to the over exertion of my descent. Ignoring it, I shuffle further, stepping onto the sparse, brown grass surrounding the runways, my heart set on reaching my destination.
My eyes catch sight of something coming towards me, their damaged and dry surfaces picking up movement from whatever it is coming at me. Worry starts to fill me; what if it's security thinking I'm an intruder? It would suck to be stopped so close to home...
As it progresses, so do I, the features of it becoming clearer: a group of people, pilots to be specific, becoming more focused in my vision. At their head is a familiar figure with dark hair and large muscles straining under his flying gear, his face having a curious set that gives his identity away immediately.
Sobbing with relief, I try to move faster, noticing that he has recognised me too as he bursts into a run, but my legs start to give out, my head finally starting to become foggy and disorientated at the thought of being home. Black spots cover my vision, my mind beginning to fall into the dark void of unconsciousness as I stagger. Blearily, I feel a pair of muscular arms wrap around my skinny frame, catching my light body as it falls, pulling it close to an equally muscular chest, soft words of relief and reassurance being whispered in my ear.
Before I fall completely, I rasp out the only thing I can think of:
"M-maverick...P-Pete..."
Darkness surrounds me.