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Wemmbu was really trying not to get irritated, but it was a losing battle. To be fair, not many people would be in a good mood after they had been stabbed, so he felt like he was honestly being fairly reasonable by deciding not to nuke the entire group that had jumped him.
A random group of chungies—that was who had attacked him. And, regrettably, that was who had managed to injure him. It wasn't one of his prouder moments.
Wemmbu rarely lets his guard down, and it was rarer yet for him to let his guard down anywhere that was public and exposed. Today had just been an off day. One bad day, one tiny mistake—and look what it got him. He was tired, he had assumed—stupidly, ridiculously—that he would be safe for the quick walk back to the End portal. The demon had told Egg that he would be back before midnight, and it was nearing that time at a rather rapid pace. A momentary slip up, just one unguarded step, and he had been jumped—another handful of new players who had heard stories of Wemmbu and wanted to try and kill him to make themselves look powerful on the server. Idiots, all of them. It wasn't anything too surprising for Wemmbu. He has to deal with other players attacking him almost constantly, he was just normally prepared to deal with them.
Wemmbu hissed as blood seeped through his shirt, hot and thick, raising his eyes to stare at the player who had dealt the blow-they looked shocked that they had managed to do it. The demon sucked in one breath, and then another, telling himself to fight them and the rest of the group with his mace. He didn't care all that much about fairness or honor or whatever bullshit Flame was normally spewing out, but sometimes he felt just a little bad when he killed players with the draw of one nuke or stabshot.
Then the fucker who had stabbed him went in for a second slash, and Wemmbu's patience snapped. He was tired, and now he was bleeding, and they were testing his straining patience.
So, yes, Wemmbu might have set off a nuke on them and then flared out his wings to fly away. He didn't need to stay and watch the chaos unfold-his nuke would deal with them accordingly. The answering death messages on his communicator only a few moments later were satisfying enough to soothe some of his annoyance.
Wemmbu's wings spasmed suddenly, sharp pain striking through his abdomen. He pressed a hand against the wound, feeling how much of the liquid had soaked through-his hand came back coated in dark red blood. Right, okay, not good. That was more blood than he was expecting.
Clumsily, Wemmbu glided down and landed on his feet, feeling less coordinated than usual. His breathing was uneven, catching on gasps and hitching when he tried to take in too deep of a breath.
Wemmbu's fingers fumbled with the fabric of his shirt before he managed to tug it up, revealing the gaping cut across his stomach. Yikes, that actually dia look pretty bad. Should he be worried right now?
Placing down an enderchest, Wemmbu rooted around through it before he found his small, pathetic first aid shulker. It was easy to find some gauze, and he quickly wrapped it around his torso, hoping to staunch the bleeding. His head was feeling a bit like it had a helium balloon trapped inside of it that was trying to float up, up, up and away from the ground.
He swallowed, mouth dry, and could faintly taste iron. He was fine. It was just a flesh wound. Everything was fine.
Wemmbu pulled out his communicator and glared down at the time. Yeah, he was going to be late, and Egg was going to lecture him about keeping track of time—ugh.
Wemmbu decided he was close enough to the stronghold that he would just walk the rest of the way, not wanting to risk plummeting from the sky. It was almost muscle memory at this point to spot the stronghold, navigate through to find the portal, and drop into the starry abyss—there was the millisecond of icy darkness and suffocating air before he stepped out into the stagnant atmosphere of the End dimension.
One step forward and he had to pause, his hands twitching at his sides. The gash was tingling, stimutaneously hot and cold somehow. It stung every time he shifted, easily irritating the sensitive skin surrounding it. Another step, and Wemmbu had to blink away black dots.
He had to force himself to stop walking once he remembered that Minute's security system prevented anyone from simply entering the End. Right, he needs to tell Minute he's here, which means he needs to be able to speak. For some reason, that feels a lot harder to do than it should right now.
"Minute! Yo, bro, let me out of this stupid trap." Wemmbu exclaimed in lieu of greeting, tapping his knuckles against the obsidian. Words felt like heavy, confusing concepts right now. Formulating them and then organizing them into something coherent was feeling strangely difficult.
Silence, for a stretching moment, and then the voidling appeared on the other side of the trap.
There was a click, the sound of pistons shifting, and then Wemmbu was able to step out into the open space on the other side. Thankfully, his clothes were such a deep purple that the dark red stains were almost imperceptible, and he knew Minute didn't notice anything off.
"You're late." Was all Minute said, in a disapproving tone that told Wemmbu exactly how the voidling felt about the late hour that the demon was returning at.
"Egg said you were supposed to be back by midnight—at the latest."
Wemmbu shrugged, and then had to hide a wince as the movement jostled his injury, and he moved past Minute to head towards the entrance to the older man's base.
“I got caught up in something." He replied carefully, hoping that they could just gloss over the topic.
He could hear Minute's steps falter behind him, like the voidling already knew that meant trouble, and he knew that they could not, in fact, gloss over the topic. "What happened? Did you get in a fight?"
Wemmbu let out a groan, pushing the door open to step into Minute's nicely decorated interior. "It was just a couple chungies. I took care of it."
"You didn't get hurt, did you?" Minute asked, disapproval melting into warm concern that made Wemmbu feel too exposed.
"Nah, Minute, I'm fine." Wemmbu responded, the lie slipping past his lips so easily that he didn't even pause or stumble over his words for a moment. It made him feel, oddly enough, a little guilty-to be able to muster up such deceit without a single mistake. "I told you I handled it."
Minute made a noncommittal sound, but they dropped the subject as they finally made it to the hallway that led to the bedrooms in the base.
Wemmbu paused, abashed, and glanced at the taller man. He didn't know why he felt the need to lie, to hide things like this, but it felt like something inside of him was inherently wrong, to punish caring and kindness with dishonesty and jaded replies.
Minute seemed to sense Wemmbu's stare and his eyes flicked over to clash with the demon's before Wemmbu could avert his gaze. Whatever Minute saw on Wemmbu's face made the voidling's own expression wilt, heavy worry pooling in his eyes, but he didn't push for any further answers.
"Egg is probably waiting for you in his room. Go check up on him, but then get some sleep." Minute said, words burdened with a special kind of responsibility that Wemmbu was sure he would never experience himself. Minute's hand raised and then settled on Wemmbu's shoulder, briefly, offering an achingly tender smile-inside, Wemmbu's heart did an odd little thing where it vibrated with shame. "You look tired, Wemm."
Wemmbu gave a quick, jerky nod, staring resolutely at Minute's back once the voidling turned to head towards his own bedroom. Yes, something was awful and rotten within Wemmbu, for him to take those carefully picked, gentle words and answer them with suffering silence.
Wemmbu forced himself to move, his legs taking him down the hallway to one of the last rooms.
Wemmbu and Egg's rooms were across from each other, thankfully, because Wemmbu knew he was nearing his limit for the night. Talk to Egg, crack a few jokes to avoid concern, and then get to his own room to patch himself up—simple, easy.
The door to Egg's room opened before Wemmbu had even raised a hand to knock. Egg stood there, stared at Wemmbu for a heartbeat, and then stepped aside to make room for the demon to walk in.
"Look, Egg, bro—” Wemmbu started, trying to force a grin onto his face—anything that would scream fine, okay, perfect. Egg's eyes narrowed and Wemmbu winced at the look on his best friend's face. "I got in a fight. My bad."
"You should have at least messaged me or Minute, bro. I thought something happened to you." Egg said, quiet and firm. His wings puffed up slightly at his back, shifting with whatever emotions the angel was seeming to try to calm down. "You're okay?"
Wemmbu gave a stiff nod, more of that hot shame pooling in the pit of his stomach. "Yes, bro, you and Minute worry too much. I'm all good." He flashed a cocky smirk, a familiar gesture, and some of that tension in Egg's shoulders loosened slightly. "Sorry for not giving you a heads up that I was gonna be late." Well, he had been too out of it to even remember that using his communicator to send a message was an option, but he wasn't about to tell Egg that.
Egg nodded, softening, and cracked a grin of his own. "Minute was pacing, bro. Don't let him act all nonchalant."
Wemmbu let out a small laugh, easing into the comfort of being around Egg. His side burned, hot and aching—the laughter stuttered off into a near-choking sound.
"Okay, now that you know I'm alive, go to bed, you idiot. It's way past your bedtime." Wemmbu said, deciding not to test his luck. "You operate on an elderly sleep schedule, I swear to the Void."
"Bro, wanting to go to bed before midnight is not early. Your sleep schedule is just cooked." Egg grumbled, plopping down onto his bed. Wemmbu sent a vulgar gesture over his shoulder at the angel jokingly, slipping out of the room.
Wemmbu sucked in a shaky, uneven breath once the door closed. He took a step forward, grit his teeth together, and glared down at the wound-blood seeped out of it, which wasn't a good sign considering it should have stopped a while ago. He raised his hand and pressed it firmly against the wound, a low gasp slipping past his lips. Blood leaked through his fingers and dripped down onto the pristine floor, but he turned his attention to moving—get to his room, just get to his room.
It took five steps to get across the hall from Egg's bedroom to Wemmbu's own room, but it felt like the start of a marathon to the demon. He didn't so much as stop in front of the door as he did slam into it, his shoulder taking the brunt of his weight. A wet cough caught at the back of his throat.
His other hand was, thankfully, clear of any blood, so he used it to twist the doorknob. Stumbling, Wemmbu entered his bedroom, panting heavily. His eyes slid over everything he saw—his dresser, desk, bed, closet, bathroom door. Bathroom, yep, that's where he needs to go.
The next few steps were staggering, barely-stable movements that threatened to send him dropping to the ground. Wemmbu bit down on his tongue, hard, and shoved open his bathroom door. He must have moved his head too fast because everything swam dangerously around him. One moment, he was slouching in the doorway, and the next, he was panting on his knees. He blinked, his eyes feeling heavy and unfocused, staring down at the tiled floor. Probably not good.
Wemmbu's hand blindly reached out for the counter, trying to use it to pull himself up to his feet, but his blood made it too slippery—it took three separate attempts before he was able to drag himself up onto shaking legs. His shoulders heaved with breaths that were far too labored for such simple movements.
Reaching out, Wemmbu turned the faucet on, sticking his hands under the flow of water. He watched the blood slowly drain away, startling against the off-white color of the counter.
The only good news about the day was the fact that he had a fully stocked first aid kit in here—kind of a necessity for someone who gets into fights on this server as often as he does. Wemmbu rips it open, cursing softly as the items scatter across the counter.
Whatever, it's fine, he can worry about cleaning this mess up when he's not feeling moments away from blacking out.
Wemmbu stares down at his shirt dully for a moment, weighing his choices, before ultimately just cutting it off with the pair of medical scissors from the kit. He likes to take good care of his appearance, clothes included, but there was no saving this shirt.
Without the fabric in the way, and after having peeled away the old gauze, he was able to get a clearer look at the wound—his stomach twisted at the sight. He wasn't squeamish by any means, and he'd seen bad injuries on his body enough times not to blanch at the sight of his own blood, but this was, admittedly, pretty bad. The wound looked raw and irritating, blood trickling down from it slowly—the liquid looked closer to brown now, which he didn't know whether that was better or worse than its brighter coloring from earlier.
The worst part was that he knew it needed stitches. Fuck his life.
Normally, Egg was the one patching Wemmbu up. The demon was pretty bad about tending to his own injuries, and he was too impatient to do neat stitches on himself, but he was not telling Egg that he was hurt. Him and Minute would just freak out, and no one needs to freak out because Wemmbu is fine.
Wemmbu grabs a cloth and dips it under the faucet to wet it, using it to dab away at the blood. It feels like using steel wool to scrub away at the gash, but he forces himself to finish it. Then comes the antiseptic, which hurts, but Wemmbu had disinfected enough wounds to know how to bite back any groans of pain from that. It leaves him lightheaded, leaning over the sink. Nausea creeps up his throat, but he breathes carefully through his nose, begging his body to not add another cruelty to the situation.
It takes a long few minutes for Wemmbu's head to clear enough for him to move once more. He goes slowly, tripping over his feet as he moves to sit down on the lidded toilet seat with the stitching supplies. Fuck, he doesn't want to do this. His hands tremble pathetically as he raises the needle.
Wemmbu squeezes his eyes shut, trying to channel as much focus and energy into this last part—just this, and he can go to bed and sleep away the pain.
Another cough works its way up Wemmbu's throat, coming out loud and harsh. He bends over, raising a hand to cup his mouth. He hacks again, hearing a distant ringing in his ears. When he blinks away the black dots decorating his vision, he stares down at the blotchy splatter of blood on his hand.
That... might be a bigger problem.
The logical part of Wemmbu's brain tells him to cut the bullshit and message Egg or Minute for help. The dark, stubborn, shameful part of his brain says to suck it up and deal with it on his own.
Wemmbu's never been one to go with logic first, so he wipes the blood off on his pants and steels himself to stitch his wound. Okay, one, two—
Wemmbu's vision whites out, his teeth lock up, and a small, keening noise works its way past his lips. Everything floats away from him.
Wemmbu blinks, bleary and sticky. The world pieces itself together messily in front of him. It feels like his eyes had been closed for a lot longer than just a blink.
Wemmbu looks down at himself, staring at the wound that looked... bad—very bad, yikes. The blood seemed to have congealed, off-color and clotting. The stitching materials lay discarded on the floor, with a piece of thread half-looped through the wound.
Wemmbu stared blankly down at it, shakily stood up, and then turned around to shove open the toilet lid. His stomach tensed as bile rose, burning, and then he gagged into the toilet. His skin was flushed, too hot for the cool air of the bathroom, and clammy in the way only a fever can cause. He stays like that, hunched over the toilet, for a long time.
He's not stupid enough to think he can finish this on his own anymore. If he's passed out once, that's bad enough to warrant the help of others. Still, a large part of him wanted to handle it on his own, but he wasn't going to risk dying in here and leaving Egg and Minute to find him like that.
Wemmbu pulled out his communicator, wiping at his mouth clumsily, and sent out a quick message to Egg—help in bathroom, quick. One glance at the clock on the screen told him that it wasn't even sunrise in the overworld yet, but he knew the angel would wake up to the message. He always did.
Wemmbu resigned himself to counting away the seconds, anything to keep his mind from slipping away, and he hadn't even made it to two minutes when he heard approaching footsteps. Deep relief washed over Wemmbu.
"Wemm? Are you sick?" Egg's voice floated to meet his ears, sounding a little distant to the demon.
Wemmbu raised his head, trying to catch the angel's eyes, but the world was twisting uncertainly around him. Egg sounded sleepy and tired, which really didn't make Wemmbu feel better about messaging his friend.
"Kinda." Wemmbu responded, shifting so he was half-facing Egg. "But, like, not really?"
Egg stilled, his body tensing as his gaze slid down from Wemmbu's feverish face to the gaping wound on his stomach. "Oh my Void, Wemmbu, what—” Egg dropped down beside him, one hand hovering over the injury while the other fished out his communicator, most likely messaging Minute.
"I kinda... maybe lied earlier about not being hurt." He coughed, blood splattering down from his mouth, and flashed a bloody smile. "My bad?"
Egg's eyes widened and he pressed two firm hands against Wemmbu's stomach, even as the demon hissed and curled in on himself. "You—oh, Wemmbu, you are the stupidest person I know. Why wouldn't you tell me?" Egg's voice sounded panicky, face screaming an alarmed expression that Wemmbu only ever saw in the heat of a battle where the angel clearly thought Wemmbu wasn't going to be the one who won.
Pounding footsteps echoed from outside and then Minute burst into the bathroom, panting, his eyes zeroing in on the sight of Egg pressing down on Wemmbu's injury. "Shit, Wemmbu, what happened? You said—" Minute cut himself off, his mouth twitching like he didn't know what was most important to say first. "Why would you lie? This is—Wemmbu, this is really bad."
Wemmbu's gaze flickered between the two men before him, his eyes suddenly burning. Why did he lie? Because he feels like he's burdening them with stuff like this? Like they might get tired of having to piece him together like a broken weapon all the time?
"M'sorry." Wemmbu mumbled, words slurring together. His next breath broke off into a half-sob. Everything hurt. He was being an idiot lying to them—to his friends, who would have gladly helped patch him up. "I didn't think y—I thought I could handle it myself."
Egg and Minute shared a look over his head that he couldn't decipher. Then, Egg moved out of the way, and Minute's arms grabbed under Wemmbu's knees and back to lift him into the air.
"Wemm, you don't have to apologize. We just want to help." Egg mumbled, eyes still wide with worry. "You'd want to know if one of us was hurt, right?" Wemmbu gave a jerky nod, breathing hiccuping as he tried to stop crying. He never cried. He was blaming it on the injury and fever.
"We're gonna get you patched up, Wemm." Minute said, voice rumbling through his chest as he carried Wemmbu out of his bedroom and bathroom into the hallway. Egg followed closely behind them, wings shifting nervously behind his back. "And don't you ever dare say you're fine again if you even have a paper cut. Void, you're taking years off my life with all this stress."
Wemmbu's wound burned, but a tension along the rest of his body eased, like it was going to be okay.
Maybe he shouldn't say he's fine all the time, but he really does feel fine right now, knowing Egg and Minute were going to take care of things for him— Wemmbu and Egg laughed at Minute's words, and Wemmbu settled against Minute's chest as he carried him towards the medical room.