Work Text:
The explosion tore through the chateau, taking down foundational elements of the building and causing a cascade of structural failures. This was to be expected, what with having planted the explosives himself while the Cowboy cracked the safe. The hiccup came in the explosion occurring while they were still inside. This was not according to plan.
Illya was thrown back and his head hit something hard enough for his vision to white out. His hearing was gone. Only ringing, metallic and pervasive. He recognized the pain in his side and new from experience that this came from a cracked rib. But his body responded when he willed himself up off the floor, shedding concrete and plaster as he rose.
He looked around and saw nothing. Well, to be clear, he saw rubble and destroyed antiques, furniture beyond repair. What he did not see what Napoleon. Right now, that was the only thing that mattered.
Illya moved carefully, avoiding wires and unstable debris. He knew not to let his panic override his caution; he'd be no good to Napoleon if he got himself killed. But it was slow work, searching through the wreckage of the former chateau with his mind calculating how long he had until they risked being discovered.
Napoleon was pinned under the safe. Its door was open - of course Napoleon cracked it - and even unconscious, the man held files in his hand. The codes. Illya saw bone through the arm of Napoleon's black sweater and he held no illusions about how his partner's femur was holding up with the safe on top of it.
Illya heaved the safe off Napoleon, tossing it to the side despite its weight. He used strips of his own shirt to make tourniquets for Napoleon's arm and leg. He tucked the files into the waistband of his pants. Then gently, with more care than he would ever show for the man when awake, Illya lifted Napoleon bridal style and carried him away.
The motorcycles were no longer an option. Even if he could manage keeping Napoleon upright while steering, they were damaged in the explosion. The Ducatis had been parked close by for a quick getaway, assuming the explosives would not detonate until they were sufficiently far away. The safe house was easily 25 kilometers away, easy enough to walk but not so easy when carrying his partner's considerable weight.
But this is what inordinate strength and a stubborn constitution are for. So Illya walked. He doubled back a few times, covering his tracks and ensuring no one had followed. He rested Napoleon against a tree about once an hour so Illya could stretch his shoulders and change how he bore the man's weight. It took nearly 6 hours. Illya was exhausted, injured and thirsty. Still he walked. Still he carried the unresponsive man in his arms.
In his mind, he justified this as what a partner must do. Illya would do this for any comrade. He would not leave them somewhere secure while he ensured his own safety and came back with help. This was the only option. To reassure himself that the man in his arms was still breathing, was still as safe as he could be while injured and unconscious. With Illya. Protected.