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The first thing Hank notices when he wakes up is their injuries have been bandaged. The second thing he notices is that they’re not alone in this room. Slowly, they rise from their laying position, can’t have whoever this is noticing him getting up.
“If you get up, I’m ripping out your stitches myself,” a stern voice said from across the room.
Who the hell is this guy to tell Hank what to do? He’s not even looking at Hank from his office chair, typing on a tablet. Hank sits up anyways but is for reason compelled to not stand up. Damn, their side aches from the stitches.
Hank grumbles out, “I don’t have to listen to you. You do know who I am, right?”
“Hank J. Wimbleton. I’m fully aware of who you are.” The mystery man turns around. “You may call me 2BDamned.”
Who cares?
Something in 2BDamned’s demeanor changed, “You will.”
Oops, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, thought Hank. Yes, he did.
Exasperated, 2BDamned leans forward and sighs, “I’ll be brief. I have a deal to propose to you. I need a proper ground soldier- there’s only so much my Fellows can do - and you need a medic. Don’t tell me you don’t need one, I see your injuries! Before you ask, you will be given compensation, as well as a base of operations should you desire. That base would be shared with me, however.”
Hank over exaggerated an eye roll with his whole head. Why should he work for this random man? Shelter would be nice, same with a pay rate. On the other hand, they come back from the dead, who needs a medic? That also means he’ll have to listen to someone… a boss. Gross.
It’d seemed like Hank was taking a while because 2BDamned said, “I’ll let you mull it over while I work. Please, lie back down.”
Hank huffed before doing so. So, they picked back up their train of thought. In the meantime, Hank took the opportunity to study this room and the medic. The walls were decrepit, yet full of personal items. Pictures, awards; anything and everything. He tries reading some of it, he’s able to make out the first name “Beau” but not the last name. They’ll pester him about who this “Beau” is later. Anyways, this must be the medic’s home, or at the very least his base.
Hold on - later? What does he mean “later”? They’re not honestly considering this offer, right? This is beneath him, all he should be worrying about is… is… not dying.
Hank croaks out, “So, you never told me what it is you and your ‘Fellows’ do.”
2BDamned turns back around, “We’re called Status Quo. We are trying to destroy the AAHW.”
They sit back up faster than the eye can track, “Why didn’t you fucking start with that!? Damn, bitch!” - he stands up to tower over 2BDamned - “Fine, I’ll join your little resistance group. Under the condition that I can still do whatever the hell I want outside of your missions…”
2BDamned is unimpressed with Hank’s outburst as he stares up at them. They stare each other down for what feels like minutes, in reality it’s all of ten seconds. 2BDamned turned to grab something on his desk. A walkie-talkie. Dumbass name, Hank thought. 2BDamned fiddles with the dials until he’s happy with it and passes it off to Hank. Then he grabs a neck and ear piece that clicks into the top of it while in Hank’s hands.
While Hank looks the pieces over, 2BDamned explains, “The neck and ear piece are for when you’re out so you don’t have to bring the radio to your mouth every time you want to speak.”
“Heh. You think about my mouth?” Hank attempts to tease. Hank wants to get something out of this man, he hasn’t so much as raised an eyebrow. It’s fucking annoying. What is he, a robot?
“No. This is simply practical, Wimbleton,” 2BDamned’s eye twitched. Then he moved to stand up and beckoned Hank to follow him. He pointed down the hall, “If you want, you can stay in one of those rooms.” - he raises his thumb over his shoulder back at the room they were just in - “that one is mine.”
“Yeah, obviously. I saw your stuff on the walls.” Hank huffed, again. This is going to be a difficult partnership.
—- 4 months later —-
Hank prizes themself on having no weaknesses. Perfect reaction speeds, perfect aim, etc. What started as Hank wanting to get rises out of the medic has somehow turned back on him. Of all things to be weak to, praise is what does them in. Praise! Jebus damned praise!
The good doctor, if you could call him that, has taken to telling Hank “good job” and “well done” for completing missions with minimal injuries. He can feel his body heat up every time 2BDamned says something like that to him.
Hank is returning from scouting out an Agency building; the worst kind of mission, just have a damn Fellow do it. He stops at 2BDamned’s office to give a fucking report. They hate it. Whatever, the sooner that’s over, the sooner they can go to bed.
“Thank you, Wimbleton. Now… would you be a good boy and show me any injuries?” 2BDamned says evenly.
What.
The.
Fuck.
If this were a cartoon, Hank’s face would’ve been red and the ends of their bandanna would’ve shot up.
He moves around to get to the operating table and sits down as 2BDamned stands up. The check goes by fast, once again minimal injuries. Once again, 2BDamned praises him. Maybe this partnership isn’t so difficult.
2BDamned begins talking while he puts his supplies away, “I’ve been looking at other mercenaries to give you some back up on the field…”
He continues on, but Hank doesn’t catch it. Hank changes his mind, this partnership sucks.