Herhee idea. Medic!reader gets injured themselves and Valeria has to see it. Reader isn’t all that phased (could be serious or a mild inconvenience) but either way, it’s something worth looking at! However the reader is very self sacrificing and would rather help everyone before themselves. ,,,,
cw; canon-typical violence, blood/injury, hurt/comfort
ACHING | VALERIA GARZA
one of her safehouses got ambushed, and it's on you to play mob doctor. bullet wounds will draw police, and half her men have warrants, so an actual hospital is out of the question.
but you weren't on your way there. you were already there.
it was supposed to be a low-risk facility, and valeria would never bring you to a place with the stuff she smuggles. anything that jeopardizes your license or freedom—aside from aiding the cartel and being associated—is out of the question !!
the rivals got their vengeance twisted; focusing more on eliminating valeria, rather than stealing her product. all they knew, was she was at point A and they wanted her dead. even she would admit, the smarter move would've been to attack one of her less secure warehouses, steal her inventory, and make her lose profit.
however, they didn't — and she loved it. how quickly her men defended the facility, taking most of them down with ease. and most of all, keeping you from the spray of bullets and smoke bombs.
... until you got separated. all wasn't in order, not when you were out of her sight. they won the fight — but she didn't win her battle with keeping you secure.
in the middle of the firefight, she ordered you to find cover elsewhere, while she stayed with her men and fired rounds. she always gave you this look in the midst of action, or before a dangerous — a nod that said 'i'll see you soon, even if only in spirit'.
one of el sin nombre's second in command dragged you away, even though all you wanted to do was remain with her, no matter how foolish that was. the attack was so sudden; talking by the crates to explosions and smoke. if this was goodbye, you didn't want it to be like this.
a nod with softened eyes, right before she turned her head and shot a rival with precision. it felt indicative of your entire dynamic; warmth while snared in cruelty and bloodshed.
your last recollection was your cries to stay with her, being jostled and dragged to safety, and then a rumble. no — an explosion; another grenade plummeted at the building. they've gotten scarcer, and so have the gunshots, so the enemy must be outnumbered and weak.
coughing up smoke, you find yourself surrounded by dust and havoc. most of the bodies are enemies, while some are with el sin nombre, slumped against the wall with their weapons still white-knuckled. you find your footing with a groan, trying to muster the side of you that's seen it all. trained for blood and guts alike, assessing the situation and turning these men from soldiers to patients.
but valeria is all you can muster. where she is, if she's in the same state as the dead men you're staggering by.
¡encuéntralos a todos, soldados! ¡ahora!
you hear a familiar shout, her voice barking orders. frazzled, but not wincing through her words. she's alive. you relax your shoulders a bit, moving toward the sound. along the way, you retrieve your medical bag — luckily untouched by the carnage.
holding it up takes effort and strains your sore arms the longer you stagger, and you already suspect you pulled a few muscles in the struggle. finally, you reach the middle of the safehouse — burning crates and settling dust — but still sturdy enough to not be running into the desert.
a desperate hand wraps around your ankle, giving your pant leg a harsh tug. peering down, you see valeria's second in command, the one who minutes ago made your well-being priority. "ayúdame... please." he coughed, doing his best to crawl closer.
finally, the natural light hit him; a bullet wound through his thigh and slices along his abdomen — akin to the hundreds of knife fights you'd treated in the ER.
the muscle memory hijacked your state of shock, and you found yourself kneeling beside him, getting him propped against one of the large crates. your fingers moved fast, peeling off his vest and button-up to assess his injuries.
unzipping the duffel, you retrieve the supplies you'll need, beginning with a tourniquet for his thigh. he's lucky it didn't pass through an artery, but that doesn't diminish the risk of losing his leg. you wrap the tie around his thigh, shrugging off his instinctual squirms. with a pull, you begin to tighten it, instantly feeling a shooting pain through your arm.
not a pulled muscle, after all. most likely a hairline fracture — and of course, it had to be on the one limb you needed most right now; your hand.
you moaned in pain, drawing the attention of the remaining soldiers. and her, in the middle of looking for you in the rubble. your voice was unmistakable — even in agony.
"hey, hey!" a soft hand squeezed your arm, forcing you to stop and take your attention off the bleeding soldier. that voice, no longer barking orders, now soft in your ear. you turned your head, greeted with valeria's troubled expression.
relief washed over you, but that didn't mean the man was in any less pain. it was your nature and your sworn oath to treat and help patients, anywhere and everywhere. you reached for the turniquet again, only greeted with more shakes and pains.
her hand reached out, rosy fingernails taking the tie from your grip, tightening it around the screaming man's thigh for you. she'd also been trained for this, years ago, when she worked with los vaqueros. to her discontent, she'd seen and done the technique in action before.
somehow, completing it while you shuddered was harder. the affect you had on her never quite showed itself, until now, when it could've been too late for you two. but it wasn't, and that only fueled her vigor more.
once he was out of the woods, she pulled you into her chest, letting you choke on sobs and clench her as tightly as possible. "please, amor, let me help you. you're bleeding." she pointed to your forehead, and it was only then that you started feeling the sting of a cut.
along your temple and brow, dripping crimson down the curves of your face; a lucky piece of shrapnel was to blame. if it was inches closer to your eye, you would've been long dead.
it didn't matter — dead or not — you were all that mattered.
⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆
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#vivisection
:)
I already have two and now I have to struggle for another take on it?? 😩 Hold on. I can do it. ...I think.
👻👻👻👻
tw gore/body horror/medical, tw vomiting
"OW! That's my stomach?!"
"I think it's a liver," Sam replies faintly, looking more than a little green around the gills. The organ drips from where it's pinched between her fingertips. "I never finished the dissection on the robo frogs. "Tucker, can you—"
The sound of Tucker hurling into the bathroom sink stops that train of thought real quick.
"No. Just me," Sam realizes faintly, fingers coated in the slick green of Danny's blood. "Great. Uh. Let me put the light on. I need to know what order to put these back into."
Danny, unhappy to be bleeding out on his bed, groans. He throws his head back on the pillow and tries to ignore the feeling of hands rooting around in his guts. Or...holding them up, gently, while he can still feel them?!
Eew. EEEEEEEW. He wants to be doing what Tucker's doing.
"Just...throw them back in there! They can put themselves back in together!!" Danny finally protests, having no idea if that's true or not. He's getting tired of holding the Y-shaped hole in his torso open for inspection. One of the glass jars of neon green organs falls up against his foot, making him flinch with surprise. "It'll be fine!"
"You want me to throw loose organs into your open chest cavity?!" Sam demands, her voice going shrill with stress.
Tucker, never one to be left out, sicks up again into the sink.
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