I've already started posting this to AO3 (my username there is HyperFix8), but I've decided to cross-post it here as well!
This is very much inspired by "Keep It Together, Lad" by Griffin Stone, here on FFNet. I was specifically looking for fics where Jim gets injured during his confrontation with Scroop, and Griffin Stone's fic is excellent! It was the only fic of its kind though and... well… I wanted more cake. So I made more cake. And now you, dear reader, get to have two cakes.
Bitches love hurt/comfort (it's me I'm bitches).
Also, if by any chance anyone reading this has been following me for my FMA fics... Believe it or not, I have started plucking at some fics that I abandoned ten years ago, specifically Mystery Diagnosis (good thing I kept my notes). My mental health is in the shitter, which is prime condition for me to write more fanfic! I'm back baby! Is it bad that I kinda want to die in a nuclear war? I just don't wanna participate in capitalism anymore.
Ok, on with the story.
You Give Up A Few Things, Chasing A Dream
Chapter One
"Scroop's Last Word"
Since he was a toddler, Jim had dreamed of exploring the Etherium. The adventure! The danger! It all excited his young mind like nothing else could, and he had spent many nights staring up at the black sky, glittering with stars, fantasizing of some future where he'd get to go up there. He knew the dangers, and yet the cold, endless vacuum of space had never felt so threatening in Jim's life. That is, until he found himself dangling by the edge of a Jolly Roger flag, in zero gravity, with a homicidal spider freak scurrying up the mast straight towards him.
Scroop stopped just above the crow's nest, and a low cackle reached Jim's ears. He watched the Mantavor extend one of his claws toward the rope that held the flag – and Jim – to the ship. Jim looked up at his feet, dangling as if from an invisible noose. Every nerve was on fire as his body stretched, and his limbs were drawn toward the endless dark sky.
"Do say hello to Mr. Arrow!" Scroop said as he began to carve away at the rope with a vicious grin on his face.
Jim felt a sickening lurch in his stomach at those words. With all his strength, he frantically climbed down the length of the flag until he could grab onto the mast. Upon seeing this, Scroop snarled and lunged at him.
"Tell him yourself!" Jim shouted. He pushed his body off the mast and flew over Scroop's head. Scroop twisted himself around and made a frenzied attempt to grab Jim. He finally sunk his claws into the boy's skin, but the Mantavor continued to fall upwards, slashing and dragging his claws down the length of Jim's body.
"I'll gut you, you little brat!"
Jim screamed as he felt Scroop's claws slash down his chest and across his abdomen, and he scrambled for purchase against the mast, his fingernails dragging along the wood. He felt a searing pain in his leg, and he kicked wildly until his foot collided with Scroop's face and the Mantavor lost his grip. Jim finally managed to wrap his arms around the mast, pulling himself close and hanging on for dear life. He looked up just in time to see Scroop fall upwards and into the flag with enough force to break the rope. Scroop ripped through the flag, snarling, then his enraged expression changed to one of confusion when he realized that he was being pulled toward the sky.
Scroop's pupils contracted, and his face twisted in horror. Jim watched Scroop float away, helplessly shrieking and flailing his limbs, until his voice faded and he was nothing more than a red pinprick in the black sky.
Jim suddenly felt heavy as the gravity came back on, and he crashed into the crow's nest with a thud.
"Agh!" Jim grunted when he hit the floor. He didn't know how bad it was, but he already knew he was hurt. He tested his legs and noted that his left leg felt tingly. He laid there, panting for several seconds before he managed to sit up. Morph suddenly popped out from a pipe, covered in soot.
"Morph?" said Jim, dazed as his vision became warped and confused. Morph chattered in his face, nuzzling him a bit, and Jim heard B.E.N.'s voice call to him from below.
"Laser cannons disconnected, Captain Jimmy, sir!" said the robot, who was wrapped in a mess of live wires and cables. "Gee, that wasn't so tough!"
It took Jim a moment to gather the strength to use his voice, and when he finally did it sounded hoarse.
"Nice work, B.E.N.!" said Jim. "I'll be right down, just give me a sec!"
There was a long silence.
"Are you okay, Jimmy?"
Jim tried to straighten his posture, but a sharp pain made him cry out and grip his chest and lower abdomen. He pressed his hand against the soft part of his stomach, right under his navel, and he felt the warm wetness that soaked through his torn shirt. He experimentally stretched his left leg and another lightning bolt of agony shot up his entire body. Jim's hands moved to his thigh, where it hurt the most, and he found that his pantleg had also become soaked with blood. He timidly pulled back some of the shredded clothing and nearly fainted at the sight. Scroop's claw had dug out a sizeable wound, and a nauseating dread began to form in the pit of Jim's stomach.
"I'm fine!" he called back. Don't lie, you're not fine, said a small voice in his head. "Got grazed by that psycho's claw."
Grazed? Literal chunks of his flesh were floating in space with Scroop right now!
Somehow, Jim found the strength to hoist himself over the edge of the crow's nest and onto the shrouds. He began his descent, trying to ignore the strange numb feeling that crept up his left leg. He must have blacked out at some point, because next thing he knew he found himself rolling onto the deck and struggling to sit up.
"Oh my- Jim! Buddy!" B.E.N. cried out in shock at the sight of Jim, who had barely managed to get himself into a sitting position. "Mister, you lay back down and tell me where the first aid kit is, so I can- HEY! Where are you going?"
Ignoring B.E.N., Jim pushed himself to his feet and staggered across the deck and down the stairs. He zigzagged down the narrow corridor, ricocheting off the walls like a ball in a pinball machine, and rushed toward the medical bay. Jim knew where all the supplies were. Silver had brought him down here several times for much smaller injuries, such as the time he'd tried to catch a falling knife, but Jim knew this injury was worse. A lot worse. Immediately upon entering the med bay, Jim opened a cabinet above the sink and clumsily shoved everything out. A sudden wave of nausea overtook him, and he bent over the sink and vomited.
"Jimmy," said B.E.N. "Lay down and let me help!"
Jim stood up and pulled his shirt over his head and yanked his pants down, exposing the extent of his injuries. It was even worse than Jim had initially thought. A long, deep cut ran diagonally across Jim's chest, ending just below his ribs. The slash wound under his bellybutton was even deeper, and it was clear that Scroop really had intended to spill Jim's guts out. The worst injury, however, was the gouge on the inner part of his left thigh. Blood spurted rhythmically from that wound, and Jim knew Scroop had hit the artery. B.E.N. made a gagging sound, which only made Jim feel like throwing up again. He swallowed heavily.
"Go to the crew's quarters, and get my rucksack," said Jim. He kicked his torn, blood-soaked clothing aside. None of it was salvageable. "Morph, show B.E.N. where my stuff is!"
"Are you sure you don't want my-"
"Just do it!" Jim shouted. "Please!"
Without further argument, B.E.N. left the room with Morph leading the way. Jim sat down on a stool and turned his attention back to the most concerning wound on his leg. He rummaged through the pile of supplies he'd knocked to the floor, breathing deeply and trying not to panic. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a small bag of potato starch. There wasn't much left, but hopefully it would be enough to somewhat stifle the worst of the bleeding.
Jim dumped half of the bag's contents over the wound on his thigh and used the rest on his stomach. He held it there with his fingers while he searched the ground for something strong enough to make a tourniquet. He finally snatched his shirt off the ground and ripped the sleeve off, wrapping the material tightly above the wound on his leg. As foggy as his mind was, Jim mentally checked off all the things Silver had taught him about first aid. A bitter laugh bubbled up his throat, and something painful coiled in his gut that had nothing to do with his injuries. He wasn't sure if he needed to cry or throw up again as thoughts of the old cyborg ran through his head. He had admired and respected Silver. He had wanted to impress him. He thought they were friends. He had even begun to see Silver as something akin to a father. Jim shook his head, willing away the swell of emotion rising up his chest. He wished he could go back and stop himself from getting so attached to Silver. He should have known better than to let himself trust another man.
The betrayal hurt.
When Morph and B.E.N. reentered the room, carrying Jim's rucksack, Jim was in the middle of wrapping his waist with gauze. B.E.N. grabbed a box off the counter and started frantically digging through it.
"You need stitches, Jimmy!"
"We don't have time for that!" Jim reached for his bag and pulled out a clean shirt and pants. He silently thanked his mother for making him pack multiples of everything. He briefly wondered if he'd ever see her again before he shook his head. "We gotta get back to Doc and the captain before those pirates realize we have the skiff."
"Okay, but we're taking this stuff with us," said B.E.N., throwing gauze pads, needles and thread, and other various items into the box. "You need help, Jim. Actual help."
Jim grunted in pain as he struggled to dress himself. B.E.N. set the box aside and helped Jim pull his pants up. Once Jim had tucked in his shirt, he reached down to the pile of bloody, discarded clothes and grabbed the map. He stood up too quickly and another wave of nausea made him brace himself against the counter. He willed away the feeling, burying his face into the crook of his arm.
"Listen to me, Jim," said B.E.N. "How about I take the skiff to get Doc and the captain, and bring them up here so we can all get out? You're in no condition to go on a treasure hunt."
"No," said Jim. "I didn't come all this way to give up now!"
B.E.N. started to object but stopped when Jim scowled at him. B.E.N. frowned but nodded, understanding it was futile to argue with Jim at that moment. He grabbed the box he'd put together and offered his shoulder for Jim to lean on, but the boy stood upright and limped out of the room, up the corridor, and across the deck to the skiff. Morph chirped nervously as Jim struggled to climb into the longboat, but he managed to complete the task without help. As soon as Jim settled onto the bench, he closed his eyes and leaned back, breathing deeply. Even sitting still his whole body ached, every part of him pulsing with pain. All the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving behind a bone deep weariness that only worsened the throbbing agony that pulsed up and down his leg and abdomen. The temptation to fall asleep was strong, but Jim forced his eyes open again.
"Let's get moving," he said, motioning for the other two to board the skiff. With that, the trio made their way back to the hideout.
In order to avoid the sleeping pirates, B.E.N. directed Jim toward another entrance to the underground tunnels. It took a lot longer to go this way, and Jim cursed at himself for slowing them down even more. He kept having to stop and check his leg to make sure his sketchy first aid job had held up. The wound on his thigh had continued to ooze blood, soaking his pants, but at least it wasn't spouting blood like it had been before. He sighed in frustration when he checked his stomach wound and found that it too had bled through his shirt, leaving a dark red stain on his front. He kept limping forward, panting for air as sweat dripped down his face and neck. Finally, the backdoor to B.E.N.'s place came into view, and Jim picked up his pace as he approached the ladder. He hurriedly climbed toward the spherical door, anxious to show Delbert and Amelia he'd found the map. He ignored the heat rising up the back of his neck, and the way his vision began to blur and twist anything he laid eyes on.
It was oddly quiet when Jim rotated the ball that opened up to the room. It should have set off alarm bells in his head, but the delirium from his injuries must have dulled his instincts as he staggered toward a dark mass against the opposite wall and shouted for Delbert.
"Doc!" said Jim. "Doc, wake up! I got the map!"
The mass shifted, and a large mechanical hand emerged from the darkness to snatch the map from Jim's hand.
"Fine work, Jimbo," said Silver. "Fine work indeed."
The room filled with raucous yells and jeers from Silver's crew, and Jim twisted his head to see Delbert and Amelia gagged and tied up. He looked back at Silver, who wore a smug grin as he tossed the map up and down in his hand.
Jim's vision began to darken at the corners, and his limbs felt heavy and numb. He stood up on his shaky legs and tried to even out his breaths. That warm feeling at the back of his neck had spread to his ears and head, and he suddenly couldn't hear right. Everything was unbearably loud, but muffled and fuzzy like he was underwater. The world turned on its side, and a breeze passed through his hair as he fell backwards, hitting his head on the cold stone floor. The room began to darken, and Jim thought he could hear someone talking to him. There were hands on his shoulders, gently shaking him, then a light slap to his face. Jim's eyelids fluttered as he struggled to keep them open.
Finally, he gave in and slipped into darkness.
