Work Text:
Mike woke up on the cold, slightly damp floor of the warehouse. How long had he been asleep? It was raining now, it hadn't been before.
The dull ache in his side started waking up, too, until it was a full throbbing pain. Shit. If he'd been asleep this whole time, that meant he wasn't holding pressure on it, and he could-
No. Not gonna think about that.
He felt around where the wound was, and was met with a sickly warm, wet feeling. The bleeding hadn't stopped.
Mike groaned and pulled himself toward the wall, leaning against it while he tried to keep himself conscious.
Think, Mike. Think.
Bullet is still in, that'll have to be taken out soon before I get lead poisoning. Bleeding is slow, but hasn't stopped. Gotta keep pressure on it, gotta keep it clean so I don't get an infection.
Funny how all the instruction manuals conveniently ignored the fact that putting pressure on your own bullet wound fucking HURTS.
Mike started getting dizzy again, and he realized that he'd been on the verge of hyperventilating this whole time.Breathe. Breathe slower. Gotta… dizziness is a symptom of not enough oxygen… or is it too much?... I lost a lot of blood, that's gotta… probably gonna lower my O2 levels… in, 2, 3, 4, out, 2, 3, fuck why can't I make it to 4?... In, 2, 3, that’s too many, how am I supposed to make it to four… in, 1, out, 2, fuck I can't…. I can't…
Mike's hands were shaking now, and he could no longer maintain pressure on the wound without the pain overwhelming him. Gingerly he lifted his shirt to get a look at it.
Jesus.
He quickly covered it again, but the image still burned into his brain. He was truly gasping now, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get his breathing down to a normal rate.
Where the fuck is Paul?
What if he doesn't make it in time?
What if I die here?
Oh god, I might die here.
Mike had been injured before, and hell he'd been stabbed on the job before, but this… being alone, trying desperately to remember how to stay alive, this was truly terrifying.
Maybe they aren't coming. Maybe they forgot about me.
Mike hated dwelling on his thoughts, especially ones that scared him, but he needed something-- ANYTHING-- to get his mind off the pain.
Remember how easily they replaced you after you left for DC? They even wrote "Better Mike" on the chore wheel. These people aren't your family, Mike. They're just roommates. Coworkers. This is just a job. When you leave, you get replaced. That's just how jobs are.
Stupid. Why did you ever get so attached? They aren't your family. You don't get to have a family, Mike. You just get people who abandon you. That's just how it is.
Mike tried to stop the thoughts from coming, but they were quickly overpowering him.
He'd been down this path before, and he did NOT want to go where it always ended.
No one loves you, Mike. Your own dad-
"SHUT UP!" He was surprised to hear his voice out loud, screaming at no one.
You LEFT her, Mike. You left your own mother with that asshole.
"I never wanted to leave her! I only left cause I HAD to!"
You still left her, though. And now everyone's left you. You deserve it.
And hey, if you die, you'll just be replaced again.
No one's gonna miss you.
"They're coming," he whispered out loud to himself. "They're coming. Someone's coming for me."
They already forgot about you.
"No."
You're gonna die here, and no one will notice you're gone.
Mike didn't want to give in to the swirling, panicked thoughts running through his head, but he had nothing else to hold on to. Those thoughts would always be there anyway, what good was it wasting energy trying to drown them out?
He could feel the exhaustion nagging at the corners of his vision. He couldn't keep this up forever. Cradling his injury, he eased himself onto the floor into recovery position. Knees bent, one arm tucked under his head, the other holding pressure. As he slipped back into darkness, he listened to the rain pelting the roof and wondered, who would come for him?
Probably no one.