Chapter Text
October 22nd, 1942
The gun shook in Donna’s hands as she looked down at the unconscious thug. She added the slightest bit of pressure to the trigger, her lower lip started to wobble and…
Bang!
Donna looked at the new bullet hole on the floor next to Blame’s bed. She stayed there, arm still extended in the air and breathing heavily. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She blinked, wiping it away.
No. This wasn’t how it was going to end.
Donna put the gun down with her still shaking hand and looked around the place, trying to form a plan. And god, she had no idea what she was doing.
She disconnected the tubes plugged into Blame’s body and started rolling the (very heavy) bed as fast as she could towards the door.
The bed came to an abrupt stop that knocked her forward with a grunt, her hair falling forward into her face. She flipped her head back up. The corners of the bed had bumped into to door frame, too wide to fit through. Donna backed up and tried again, and again with more force this time.
“WHAT’S THE. POINT. OF A. TRANSPORTABLE BED. IF YOU. CAN'T. TRANSPORT. IT!!” She grunted between aggressive pushes.
She was reminded to calm down by the sudden flaring up bullet wound in her shoulder. She gasped and took a moment to regain her breath. She inhaled sharply through her teeth as the burning sensation came to a climax before it calmed back down again.
She looked back up at the predicament she was in. Ok. Change of plans.
Donna took the fitted sheets underneath Blame and undid the corners. She folded them over his body and did her best to secure him into a Blame-Burrito, keeping the pillow carefully tucked under his head for extra protection.
Now, for the trickier part, lowering him to the floor. Getting him down bridal style wasn’t an option due to her injury. So instead, she pulled on the sheet covering him, bringing his upper body near edge of the bed before pulling on his entire weight. She positioned herself underneath his body as they ungracefully fell to the floor together, Donna taking the impact for him with an oof .
She carefully pushed Blame off of her. When she exhaustingly got back up to her feet, she noticed a lever connected to a small mechanism under the bed.
One to lower the bed to the floor, she realized.
Donna grit her teeth, face turning red and kicked the useless piece of junk they dared call a hospital bed. The bed rolled a few feet backwards, now, much to her delight, out of the doorway.
Donna used Blame’s sheets to drag him out of the room, pulling on the side with his legs. They were raised in the air as he was dragged across the floor.
“You need any help with that?” A voice broke the silence.
Donna jumped and her grip slipped, dropping the lower half of Blame unceremoniously to the floor. Her head shot to the left to see Skinny Bitch standing a few feet from her in the hallway.
“I- um- No, thanks I’ll be fine!” she said with a smile that probably looked more like a grimace of pain.
“Mhmm, you sure? I can help bury him right now if you want?”
“No!”
Skinny Bitch raised her eyebrows.
“Um. Well, you see because when I- you know…” Donna vaguely gestured a finger gun to her head. “It sort of made a mess. Like- like a big bloody mush, you know? And I’m thinking an incineration might be a better idea in this case… And I wouldn’t want to bother you with all that trouble.”
The other woman gave her a long look before shrugging. “Heh, you’re right, I really don’t want to. See you around Donna whatever your name was!” She giggled as she walked past Donna and disappeared out the front door of the building.
Donna let out a breath and bent over to take hold of the makeshift stretcher again. She pulled painfully on the sheets, suppressing a grunt, and she continued her job of dragging Blame out of there.
“I’ll get you back on your feet Blame. Whatever it takes, I promise.”
- - -
9 YEARS LATER
- - -
March 13th, 1952
Donna’s leg jumped up and down anxiously in the waiting room. She glanced up from her script as a lady walked in the room to call yet another name for the auditions. There were only two names left until hers would be called.
The role was for the new face brand of a shampoo company. Which was a bit unexciting in concept, but the company would call her back for a series of said ads which would be diffused to millions. It wasn’t exactly Donna’s dream role but, this could be her first real break and the way to get her name out there. Then, she could start starring in real stuff .
It was hard getting out there with jack shit on your resume. She had just her face and her acting skills to lean back on.
There was around 15 other women impatiently waiting in the room with her. Some of them probably had more experience, some of them probably had something to show on their resume and some of them had fucking natural bleach blond hair.
But goddamnit , she wouldn't let anyone other than her get this part. She had so much fucking skills that the army itself took her on as a spy. A job which she loved, as it required her to do her two favorite things: Act and shoot guns. She saved the world with that job… but hey, the only bad thing about ending a war is they don’t need you anymore, right?
“Donna Phitts?”
Her heart jumped in her throat. FUCK. That was quick?!!
She clumsily got up, straightening her dress. She fluffed her hair as she walked to the door.
“Um, actually…” The lady stopped her in her tracks “We received a phone call of someone looking for you”
- - -
“There’s an audition waiting for me in ten minutes so this better be quick” The casting agency’s phone in hand as she leaned over the desk of their reception area.
“Oh thank god, Donna, you have no idea how long it took me to find the number to this place”
“Henry? I gotta go, what is it?” She started tapping her finger anxiously.
“It’s him, Donna. He’s awake.”
Her finger stopped and for a few seconds, the whole world held its breath.
“...Donna?”
“HE’S WHAT!”
HE’S AWAKE. Two words Donna had given up hope of ever hearing years ago. He’s awake. He’s awake. They kept replaying in her head as she stood, frozen in place.
“Shit! Fuck! ” she slammed the phone back down in the holder. She turned to the taken aback receptionist.
“WHEN ARE THE NEXT AUDITIONS FOR THIS SHIT?!!”
“Um, Ms Phitts, I believe you are scheduled for today”
“DON’T CARE WHEN’S THE NEXT ONES!!”
The receptionist inhaled sharply and flipped through her papers.
“I can see if I can fit you in next Sunday…” she said reluctantly.
“DO THAT.” Donna slammed her hand down on the desk and ran the fastest she ever did to the hospital.
- - -
He was staring at a room he did not recognize. How had he gotten here? What was happening? He couldn’t even recall what he was thinking 5 seconds ago. First there was nothing, then there was a blurry room in front of him, so he did the only thing he could: stare at it.
Movement obstructed his view and next thing he knew there was a man right next to him. He was poking and pricking his arm, which annoyed him, but also reminded him he had a body in the first place .
He looked down at what was apparently his own arm. It was covered in thick black markings. His head hurt. He looked back up in front of him.
He was staring at a room he did not recognize. How had he gotten here? What was happening? He couldn’t even recall what he was thinking 5 seconds ago. First there was nothing, then there was a blurry room in front of him, so he did the only thing he could: stare at it.
- - -
As soon as the bus stopped in front of the hospital, Donna was pushing through the people crowding the door, not a care in the world for the nasty looks she received in return.
She burst through the front door, running right past the front desk because fuck signing in. People dodged out of her way as she sprinted carelessly through the hospital hallways.
She surprised herself when she came to a sudden halt in front of Blame’s shut door. She put her hand on the handle, not daring to turn it. The only thing she could hear was her own heaving breaths and her quick heartbeat in ears.
After a few moments, Donna gave up waiting until she felt ready, (she would never be) and she pushed the door open.
The small room was a familiar sight to her. Blue walls and wooden chairs besides the single bed holding Blame. He was propped up and drowning in a mountain of pillows, a monkey plushie Donna had gotten him next to his hip. There was a feeding tube on his face and an iv connected to his arm. All of it made him look even smaller than he already was with all the weight he’d lost through the years. But all of that was familiar, what was new, was the open brown eyes staring back at her.
She took one slow step after the other towards the bed. Blame’s gaze followed her across the room. She moved so very carefully, as if only a breeze would be enough to blow away the scene in front of her. She sat next to the bed and put her shaky hand over his.
“...Hey” she says gently with a soft smile.
He blinked, and stared at her in silence. His eyes wandered all across her face, never really landing on her eyes for more than a second. There wasn’t any particular emotion in his features. He was just… observing.
Donna looked behind her, making sure they were alone, then back at him.
“Blame. It’s Donna… it’s Lima Dozen. Do you remember me?”
He gave no response. Donna readjusted herself and tightened her grip on his hand. Her leg started bouncing as Skinny Bitch’s words repeated in her head. He wouldn’t remember who the hell he was. He wouldn’t remember who the hell he was.
No. No, she kept telling herself. Blame was right here and he would get right back up on his feet.
- - -
He was staring at a face he did not recognize.
How had he gotten here? What was happening? He couldn’t even recall what he was thinking 5 seconds ago. First there was nothing, then there was a woman next to him, so he did the only thing he could: stare at her.
The second thing he noticed was a tight grip on his hand. There’s something on my hand, he tried to say. But he couldn’t remember how to form any of the words, so the only thing that came out was incomprehensible mumbles. He tried to dislodge the thing on his hand himself but his muscles were unresponsive and jerky and the grip only got tighter. He whined, brought his gaze up to the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut.
Then, a hand was cupping his cheek and turning his head towards the woman again. And it hurt. The new angle of his head was sending spikes of pain throughout his skull. He tried to jerk his head away, but it just made it hurt more. He was stuck. Stuck. Stuck!
He was staring at a face he did not recognize. How had he gotten here?! What was happening?! He couldn’t even recall what he was thinking 5 seconds ago. First there was nothing, then there was fear, so he did the only thing he could: panic.
- - -
The face Donna held in her palm contorted into one of fear as Blame’s breath quickened.
“Blame?”
The man mumbled something she couldn’t make out, and his words turned into sobs, tears falling down his cheeks. Donna let go of his face and took a step back, not a fucking clue what to do.
Was he hurt?! Was he sad!? Happy?!! Donna wasn’t used to being exposed to such raw emotion like that. And never would she expect it to come from a guy like Blame of all people. Something was clearly. fucking. wrong.
She did her best to decide what could help right now and decided on a hug. That helped crying people right? She got up and leaned to wrap Blame in her arms.
“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay”
To Donna’s horror, the action elicited a scream from the man. It was not a scream of pain but one of fear. Donna wasn’t even sure which one was worse.
She immediately let go of him. But even with her off him, Blame was left alternating between sobs and screams.
“Shit! FUCK!” she said, gripping her hair.
The door slammed open behind Donna.
“WHAT HAPPENED!?” Blame’s doctor barged in, likely alerted by the screaming.
“Henry!! He’s- He- I don’t fucking know!” Donna panicked
Henry rushed to the side of the bed, immediately checking for any sign of injury.
Her fingers tangled in her hair painfully as she watched Blame’s helpless state. He was barely trashing in his panic, likely too weak to do so.
Henry was trying desperately to calm Blame down, kneeling to Blame’s height, rubbing his arm comfortingly but with urgency.
“George. George, you have to breathe.” he said sternly.
Donna cringed at the fake name she had given him. It wouldn’t help, Blame wouldn’t recognize it. Then again, he didn’t recognize the name Blame either. He didn’t recognize it. He didn’t recognize it. He didn’t recognize it!
Donna watched, feeling as helpless as Blame as nurses came in. She felt like she was underwater, the noises around her muffled and slowed as Henry got a needle of sedatives to stick in Blame’s arm.
Unable to watch anymore, Donna rushed out the room.
- - -
Bang.
What had she expected? She thought as she hit another can from across the small shooting range she had set up in her backyard. She had hit a can, although not the one in the middle she had been aiming for.
Blame had just woken up from a 9 years coma because he got fucking shot in the head. What had she thought? That he’d wake up, feeling all better with his brains intact?
Bang.
She hit the wooden plank behind the cans, really the only barrier between Donna’s bullets and the neighbor’s kids. To be fair, she wouldn’t care all that much if she hit them, they were little vermins.
9 years had been a long fucking time to be asleep. Long enough to already have had slowly destroyed all of Donna’s hopes of Blame ever waking up. But fate was a cruel thing, and it just made all of Donna’s impossible hopes become true, just before smashing them to pieces again.
Bang.
She hit the table the cans were placed on.
It wasn’t Blame she saw today. He wasn’t the same in any way, shape or form. He wasn’t the hero that saved their asses back then.
Bang.
She finally hit the can in the middle, making it fly off the table. She took a big breath in and out, lowering her gun.
But Blame was… awake.
It was a step in the right direction. A chance that was given to her. So Donna swore she’d do anything to get Blame back. Anything. He had been her hero back then and now…
It was her turn to be Blame’s hero.