Could I request something kind of domestic and fluffy, with Anti and Wil patching up each other’s injuries after whatever shenanigans they typically get into?

markipwiwer:

Here you go! Sorry this one took a little longer. But I really needed the positive distraction today, so thank you!

–

Dark always told Wilford and Anti to not bring knives to a gun fight. But Anti didn’t care much for guns and Wilford thought it might be a little bit of fun.

Dark almost had a heart attack when he found out they’d come so damn close to being mortally wounded – the kind of close humans wouldn’t have survived.

Some asshole had managed to rip open Antis stitchings over his neck, which was rather annoying since it just never bloody stopped bleeding if it wasn’t sealed closed. The last time, Dr Iplier had insisted he do something. But Anti went to Dr Schneeplestein instead, trusting him more only because he was a Septic.

So he was bleeding from his neck again, and it hurt too because his body had finally gotten the message that it might want to try and heal itself, so it had torn open extra skin.

Wilford had teleported right as a rouge bullet had been shot. So he had an exit wound with no entry wound. Which was very obscure and strange and no one really wanted to talk about why it was possible or why the bullet seemed to move in such a stray direction through his body, coming out of his shoulder because of the way that he teleported but… it was what it was and now he was bleeding too.

When Dark knew their injuries weren’t life threatening, he had to walk away and blow off some steam about how close they came to those injuries being VERY life threatening. He’d chide and lecture about their carelessness, their irresponsibility, how they can hardly be trusted to work together at all, but in all honesty Dark was absolutely terrified of losing them. If that meant he had to be harsh to keep them alive, then so be it.

In return for Darks patience and forgiveness of them both, Anti and Wilford decided to… patch each other up, so to speak. At some point, they sat cross legged, facing each other and dab in cotton wool buds with rubbing alcohol on each other. Typically neither of them bothered with all the various cuts and scrapes they got from their hunts and missions, but they figured they might as well go the whole hog today.

Then Wilford was lying on his stomach, relaxing into his own crossed arms as if he were getting a massage. When in reality, Anti was rubbing his back to clean it of all the excess blood.

Wilford didn’t really work like other people, and he especially didn’t work like Anti. Anti would bleed and bleed and bleed until you’d have to assume there was no more blood left in him. But there was and that just how his body worked and some had assumed that maybe it wasn’t blood at all. Wilford had been curious, because it smelled like blood, looked like blood, but didn’t entirely taste like blood. But whatever it was, it ran through A tis veins thick and if nothing else it just messes up all the good shirts he owned.

Wilford, on the other hand, didn’t bleed much at all. His body usually stopped the bleeding itself within about 10 minutes, which was very handy for trying to clean up messes.

“This is my favourite shirt, too.”

“It looks identical to every other shirt ye own, if it’s yer favourite why’d ye wear it on a hunt?!”

“It’s not identical, and because I wanted to look my homicidal best today!”

Wilford hissed only slightly as he cleaned out the inside of Wilfords wound. He then pat it dry and then placed a sticky bandage over the top. He sat Wilford up and began to wrap a gauze around his shoulder, to which Wilford scoffed.

“This is just ridiculously unnecessary, Anti, and you know it.”

“Maybe, but ye’ve never taken good care of a bullet wound in yer life so I’m makin’ up fer it now.”

Wilford tsked and manoeuvred the way Anti wanted him to until Anti felt satisfied with the wrap.

“Are you going to kiss it better?”

“No, but I’ll give ye a real reason to go an’ see an actual doctor.”

Wilford had to laugh at that. The only time Anti had sent him to the doctor was because of a kink scene gone slightly awry, not because of a fight.

Then it was Wilfords turn. He had attempted to stop the bleeding in every way he knew how, including holding pressure to the wound (in other words, choking Anti for 30 minutes straight), but it was all no use. So he cleaned it as best as he could and put some strips over it in a vague attempt to hold the gash closed. After that, he summoned a rather fancy looking bandage – one that seemed specifically designed to take leaky wounds – and placed that over the top before beginning to wrap it over and over with another gauze.

“Ye really don’t need to choke me.”

“I’ll say it one last time, I’ll do it later if you can be patient!”

Wilford wrapped and and wrapped, and Anti almost questioned why he was so good at it, his handiwork seemed surprisingly neat for someone who didn’t care about their own wounds, and at some point he did give Wilford the compliment.

He did, however, recall Dark mentioning something about Wilford having served in the war, which would explain many things. Dark had also made it very clear that it was not to be brought up, so he dropped it for everyone’s sake.

Once Anti thought Wilford was done, he felt the pink man pulling and tugging and fiddling in weird ways at the back.

“What are ye doin’?”

“Oh nothing, these clips are just a little fiddle-y, that’s all!”

Anti didn’t entirely trust that excuse, but he didn’t push it. Wilford smiled, rather pleased, with the bow he’d tied at the back.