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Porsche punches the wall of rock again, cursing.
“Porsche, stop,” Kinn says, taking Porsche’s hand and leading him away from the cave-in. “There’s no way through that.”
“Khun Kinn is right,” Big says, holding up their only remaining phone to try and find a signal, “you’ll just end up fracturing your hand.”
Porsche huffs and scrubs a palm over his face. “This is my fault,” he mutters bitterly.
“Porsche,” Kinn says gently, cupping his partner’s cheek. “You didn’t cause this. There was no sign of an ambush.”
“But–”
“Did you know those rangers would chase us into the hills?” Big interjects tersely. “Or that their artillery would cause an avalanche?”
“...no,” Porsche mumbles.
“Then this isn’t your fault,” Big finishes decisively.
Both Porsche and Kinn look over at the admission and Porsche’s eyes widen.
“Big…”
Big follows Porsche’s gaze down to his stomach, where a stain of red is blooming across his white shirt.
Well, shit.
He looks up at them, surprised, as the phone falls from his hand. Seconds later, his knees give out and the last thing he sees is both men running towards him before he hits the ground and everything goes dark.
~*~
The sound of a fire crackling greets Big when he wakes. He opens his eyes blearily and tries to sit up, but an arm across his midriff stops him just as a shooting pain ricochets through his abdomen.
Big groans and looks over to…Kinn?
The mafia head is looking at him with a serious expression, dark eyes shining in the firelight.
“You’ll reopen your wound,” Kinn says in a hushed tone.
“What happened?” Big croaks.
“You were shot. Didn’t you realise?”
Big shakes his head, searching his memories for the feeling of a bullet slicing through muscle. There’s nothing.
“It looks like a graze, but it’s deep. You shouldn’t move too much.”
As Kinn leans over, Big realises that the other man is shirtless. And so is he.
His cheeks flush as Kinn checks the bandage, which looks suspiciously like an amalgamation of his, Kinn’s, and Porsche’s shirts. Kinn’s fingers brush his bare skin and a legion of sparks ignite there.
“Where’s–”
Kinn makes a soft shushing sound and nods to a point over Big’s shoulder. Big turns to see Porsche curled up next to him, sleeping. He’s so close that Big can feel the curling whisper of his breath.
“You were cold,” Kinn murmurs. “We didn’t know what to do, so we…” he trails off and Big realises why they’re both right next to him.
Embarrassment floods his veins and he tries to move away, but Porsche mumbles in his sleep and throws an arm across Big’s chest, nuzzling closer until his cheek rests on Big’s shoulder.
Big waits for Kinn to reprimand him, but he just smiles fondly at Porsche and lies back down, pressing against Big’s side. He puts an arm carefully over Big’s chest, mirroring Porsche.
“Sleep. Help will be here in the morning.”
Big feels oddly content as the warmth of the two men settles into his skin. Even his wound doesn’t hurt as he drifts off to sleep, protected on both sides.