[Day 10, night: Ichigo; CW: lots of blood and injuries]

[purrtagonist]

[secret AGENT man plays in the background]

[their agreed meeting spot is in the hallway of the dormitory wing, halfway between each of their rooms. Akira quietly hopes no one else stumbles across him while he waits for Ichigo to arrive, because he sure does look suspicious. mostly because he had managed to fish out a replica of his thieving outfit from his closet, mask and all. but hey, gotta wear the right outfit if your plan is to sneak around, right?]

[he waits, arms folded, back leaning up against the wall, right foot propped up at his side. his mask, at least, is pushed to the top of his head. and he isn't wearing glasses]

[and for the first time, he's wearing the kitchen knife he pilfered openly at his waist. hello, Ichigo. someone is ready and raring to go]

Comments

[purrtagonist]

[this is his fault for encouraging Ichigo, for agreeing to go on this stupid quest in the first place. for picking the lock to the front door, for being unable to shield his friend from the dangers of this room. for not being fast enough on the lock, and for freezing in damn place like he's never seen anyone be hurt before. like his experiences in the Metaverse, fighting creatures that could give horror movie monsters a run for their money, meant nothing]

[you're braver than this, Kurusu. get your fucking act together!]

[the Rube Goldberg machine of death doesn't care too much for Akira's internal guilt monologue. it continues on, another gun (because there are many) leveling towards Akira right at eye level. the wheel behind it, the wheel that is ready to pull the trigger, spins on, and Akira knows he only has a few seconds to react. and this time, he won't be depending on anyone to protect him]

[with one last frustrated cry, he flexes his fingers around that knife hand and yanks it out of the wall, out of his hand. the blade has sliced through bone and tendons, and he can't feel his fingers, much less move them. but that's not nearly as important as dropping to the fucking ground as the gun cracks, the bullet whizzing past him, striking the door right where his head had been just one second earlier]

[there's no time to be grateful for that, though. Akira moves, expression grim and determined, and kicks the door to the room open. after that, he reaches out to hook his arm underneath Ichigo's and drag him the fuck out of there. they both trail blood as they go, but once they're past the threshhold?]

[Akira kicks the goddamn door shut again, sealing the death machine back inside]

[suppressthedark]

[He's aware, dimly, of being dragged out - but he's so much dead weight in Akira's arm as he's dragged, head low and dripping onto his chest. It's like he's swimming through seas that keep dragging him under, a red haze in his vision that might be from the blood that's spilling over from his cut, but the spinning sensation is definitely from blood loss.

He rests for a moment against the door, just breathing - letting the pain dull from the adrenaline in his system, the agony shrinking down to simple burning and sharpness.]

...Got to....get help...

[Even like this, even down an eye and cut open from so many wounds, Ichigo only still worries about Akira - about the wound on his back, the new wound in his hand, the bullet wounds - and he begins to force himself, somehow, to get up, body shaking and slowly moving even as his skin begins to pale.]

[purrtagonist]

[Akira's world is spinning too, his vision swimming, his entire body buzzing with leftover adrenaline. once they're out and safe, he just. . . slumps up against the door, head tilted back, chest heaving with every breath he takes. every bit of movement hurts, and dimly he knows that his lightheadedness is due to blood loss and pain. a small pool of red is already beginning to form on the ground next to him as his back injury continues to bleed]

[but he can't pass out yet. not when there's someone who is so, so much worse of than him about to stand up, what the fuck Ichigo]

Shut up.

[Akira's voice is gruff, hoarse, full of gravel. he reaches out to slide his arm around Ichigo's shoulders, heedless of any injuries, heedless of his own pain, if only because his mind is so, so foggy that he can't really think about anything beyond keeping this stupid, self-sacrificial idiot from hurting himself more. with a surprisingly firm grip considering the circumstances, he pulls Ichigo flush against him, bundles him and his bloody self in his lap, and just. . .]

[sits there, trying not to tremble, trying to remain conscious]

Don't do. . . stupid shit, you moron. L. . . look at you. You're a mess.

cw: more eye gore

[suppressthedark]

[He doesn't have to energy to push back or protest when he's grabbed, only grunting in a little pain as he's pressed against Akira. In any other situation, he'd be a little embarassed at being this close, but as he bleeds out and his body begins to shiver in response to the loss of heat, he's only thinking a few things, over and over.]

We're....going into...shock...

[How could they not? They've both lost enough blood, and the pain is overriding everything, even his own hazy thoughts. The adrenaline begins to fade, and everything is becoming so cold, as he can't keep his head up and rests it against Akira's shoulder, unknowingly revealing the extent of his facial wound to his partner.

The cuts on his forehead and cheek are bad, but it's plain to see even through the blood and open wound that his eye has been cut in half, now a useless dissected organ in his skull. Ichigo lifts a trembling hand, resting it on Akira's own (though not the one that had been pierced through by the knife), using what little strength he has left to squeeze it gently.]

I...I'm sorry, Akira...should've...

[He trails off, obviously fighting with himself to stay conscious - because if he falls asleep now, he may never wake up - despite the utter physical and mental impossibility it's becoming.]

...Please...live. That's....all I want...

[purrtagonist]

Shut up.

[don't apologize, don't sound so contrite, none of this is your fault! he wants to yell all of that until he loses his voice, but he's so. . . so tired. so tired that he's barely registering the mangled state of Ichigo's face, barely registering the fact that he's right about them going into shock. he just tightens his hold on his fellow captive's shoulders and inhales another sharp gasp]

[what a stupid night this has been]

I'm-- I'm gonna. I'm gonna

[he repeats that firmly, emphatically, because he knows he can't die here. dizziness, vertigo and pain-addled exhaustion aside]

But. . . you gotta. . . too.

[there's no making up for this mistake. there's nothing he can do to fix things. but Ichigo needs to live too, so he can at least try]

[suppressthedark]

[His heartbeat is speeding up - not from anything Akira's saying, not from being so close - but just from the simple fact of not having enough blood to carry oxygen through the body. He's cold, he's so cold - and his unruined eye is beginning to droop, blackness encroaching on his already swimming vision.]

...I'll...try.

[Like this, he can feel Akira's heart beginning to speed up as well, as blood loss takes its toll on them both. He wants to stay awake - he has to stay awake - but he just simply can't, and he hates it.

He hates that Akira was injured, that he couldn't stop that. Hates that they both might die here, alone in a corner of a floor that people might not get to until much later. He hates tha they're even in this situation, that things were bad enough that they ignored all warning signs and went in, sure that they could do something, that they could save everyone -

And he hates that he's taking so much comfort in their current state, thinking if he has to die, then he won't have to die alone, without someone he loves nearby.

He takes a rough breath, although his breathing has already slowed down, almost like he was falling asleep right there instead of passing out.]

A...ki...ra.

[His remaining eye finally closes, as he slips away into unconsciousness.]

[purrtagonist]

[Akira's heart is thudding loudly in his ears, but he swears it skips a beat as Ichigo suddenly goes limp in his arms]

Hey--

[for the briefest of moments, panic cuts through his exhaustion, and he fumbles to press his good hand against Ichigo's neck to check for a pulse. he can feel it, rapid and weak, underneath his fingers. . . and for now. it's a small comfort]

[but only for now]

Damn it. . .

[his arms fall away from Ichigo's shoulders and to his sides, the last wave of panic-induced adrenaline fading, along with the final few threads of his consciousness. and the last thing to cross his mind before he fades out, the very last thought he has, is. . .]

What kind of. . . leader. . . gets his team killed. . . h-ha. [the laugh is so self-deprecating] Fffffuck. . .

[and, as though snipped apart by a pair of scissors, those threads of consciousness snap as Akira slips into a bloody darkness]

[good job, boys]