Genre: none

Summary: Party gets hurt.

Saying Party Poison was stubborn would be an insult to the word stubborn. The leader of the Fabulous Four figured he could handle everything under the desert sun completely alone. He had a whole team, but he needed no one by his side. According to how he acted, at least.

No one was built to grab the whole world by its horns and wrangle it into submission. That was a truth he refused to face. As much as he valued the others, he wouldn't accept their help; whether out of pride, stupidity, embarrassment, or all of the above. He had an insatiable urge to be a vigilante when there was no practical need.

As such, he'd decided that going on a supply run by himself was a wonderful idea. He'd grabbed the keys one morning and weaseled his way out of the diner to top off their food supplies. As one could predict, it hadn't ended well. One person can only do so much against a team of Dracs thirsting for the opportunity to blow a Killjoy's brains out.

He threw the door open and staggered inside, trying to keep from collapsing. The exhaustion and pain were a nasty combination, and he found it difficult to stay on his feet. The cheerful jingle of the old bell they'd kept over the door was an ironic contrast to his situation.

There was a raygun wound on his upper arm, graciously placed there by a Draculoid. If he hadn't moved at just the right moment, the blast could've easily buried itself in his heart. The near-ghost experience left his muscles twitching as his fight-or-flight urges refused to die down. He clutched the wound, trying to keep pressure on it- he'd driven home one-handed, nearly swerving off the road a few times as he grew increasingly lightheaded. Luckily for him, traffic didn't tend to be too dense.

He'd sloppily wrapped it with a piece of fabric torn from his shirt. It burned like a son of a bitch. His arm hung limp at his side, needles of pain branching from the impact and digging into his nerves.

And who was in one of the booths but Fun Ghoul, his eyebrows raised as he took in the dirty, shaking, sweat-covered mess that Party had become. He had the expression of a parent who'd caught their kid sneaking out through their bedroom window.

Party swore under his breath as they locked eyes. He had hoped to sneak his way in and pretend he'd been there the whole time. The bullet hole would be hard to explain, but surely he would figure something out.

Honestly, he wouldn't have minded being confronted by Jet or, Destroya forbid, even Kobra. Fun was the last of the three he could have hoped to see first.

As much as he liked his boyfriend- if he didn't, he wouldn't be his boyfriend, now would he- he wasn't looking forward to the lecture coming his way. He knew it was all because Fun cared. If anything, that made it worse.

"And just where the hell have you been?" Fun greeted him sharply. Party huffed, swaying unsteadily.

"Out."

"Oh, really," Fun replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Even so, there was a sense of urgency about him. He could tell by the strained look on Party's face and the hand around his bloody shoulder that something was wrong. "Sit. Now."

He couldn't argue with that. He resisted his mind's agenda to sabotage his body and slid into the seat across from Fun, quietly wincing.

He couldn't deny that it felt nice to rest in the (relative) safety of the diner. He released a shaky breath, leaning his head back.

Fun stared him down and tried to assess what had happened. It wasn't difficult to infer. "You got ambushed,"

"Obviously." Party sighed. "Look, I went out to get supplies and got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I made it back, I'm fine, I can deal with it. Just let me-"

Fun held up a hand, signaling for him to shut up, and he did. There were a million microexpressions on his face- incredulousness, anger, relief, and just about everything else. He rubbed his temple. "Jesus Christ, Party. You can't just do that. I'm not sure if you've caught on yet, but they're out there to kill us. There's a lot more of them than anyone can handle themselves. Have you even considered what might have happened if you hadn't escaped?!" He asked. "I-I mean- you've been shot, for fuck's sake. You look like you're about to pass out,"

Anything Party could say wouldn't help his case. Fun was right. He didn't even know what his case was. He sighed. "I know. I just thought I could handle it. We were running low on food, and-" he winced, a fresh wave of burning pain reigniting in the wound out of nowhere, catching him off guard. "Sweet fuck, that smarts..."

Fun stood, storming to a cabinet. He was silent as he searched through it. Stone-cold silence that made Party a bit anxious. He pulled out one of many first-aid kits they had at the ready. Jet-Star was the more medically inclined of their crew, but Fun didn't have the mind to go get them. With slightly trembling hands, he rummaged through it.

"Look, I... I'm not mad or anything," He began as he slid into Party's booth. He unfurled a roll of bandages and doused a cotton wad in antiseptic. "Okay, maybe a little bit,"

Party pulled off his jacket, flinching as the cloth came unstuck from the wound. Like a scab being ripped away, it stung, and he started to bleed slightly.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it wasn't good. The skin around the impact was an inflamed, angry red. Raygun wounds doubled as burns and bullet holes. He'd taken the shot at an angle; a direct hit would require more attention, possibly burrowing down to the bone, but it hadn't gone nearly that deep. Fun's main concern, really, was infection.

He chuckled, begrudgingly holding his arm out and allowing him to work. "Okay, dad."

"I'm serious," He snapped. "Look, I get it. You want to save the day or whatever it is that goes on inside your head. But you can't take on every member of Better Living and their mothers by yourself."

He dabbed at it with the antiseptic. Party bit his lip as the chemicals sizzled the wound clean, white-hot pain reigniting in his arm. Instinctively, Fun placed his free hand on his thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Easy," He murmured.

"It freaks me out. When you run off without taking us with you or even telling anyone where you're going. You got lucky this time, and it's nothing you won't come back from, but I don't want to see you walk through that door hurt any worse. Or, Witch forbid..." he swallowed back a lump in his throat. "You get it."

He didn't have to finish the sentence. Party understood full well what he couldn't say. Or not see you come back at all.

Party's stomach twisted. He stared at his lap- his boyfriend's hand remained on his leg, holding him steady. He felt the ache of his gentle work on a wound he didn't take seriously -because he could never be hurt badly enough unless he was dead- and the minuscule tremble in Fun's fingers, indicative of his barely-contained fear of a possibility none of them liked to think about.

Party didn't like people worrying about him. It made him feel vulnerable. But more than that, he hated the idea of someone he loved being upset because of his recklessness and wondering if he'd come home from his joyrides at all.

"Hey," Party murmured. He placed his other hand on Fun's, grasping it gently. He paused, averting his gaze as Party looked over. "That's isn't going to happen, okay? You know I'm too stubborn to die, so there's no need to worry about me."

He scoffed. "I'm always worrying about you. You make it pretty fucking hard not to,"

"I know." He sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry. "

Fun pulled his hand away to finish his work, wrapping the wound in fresh gauze. "...You better be,"

Party pulled him into a hug the moment he was done, which he hesitantly accepted, not wanting to agitate his injury. Before long, though, Fun sank into it. It was physical, indisputable proof that Party was with him, safe, and he was going to stay there. The relief that brought him was indescribable.

"It was stupid, I know." Party declared. For once, he'd admitted defeat.

He took a deep breath, releasing his conflicted emotions as he exhaled. "I'm just glad you came home," He mumbled. "I still love you. No matter how stupid you are."

Party chuckled. "I love you too,"

"Okay. Here's how this is gonna go," Fun stated, pulling away and hitting him with his best no-nonsense face. "You're going to get up, walk your ass into that room, lie down on your bed, and you're going to rest. I'll tie you to it if I have to,"

He raised his eyebrows, grinning suggestively."Kinky."

Having effectively eaten his words, Fun wrinkled his nose, unimpressed. "Ew." He deadpanned. "You'd just start bleeding all over me, and I'm not cleaning that."

He laughed and raised his hands in a gesture of surrenderance as Fun stood, staring expectantly. "Sir, yes, sir,"

Fun didn't end up having to tie him to his bed, but he did end up in it next to him, so Party would stop whining for him to "kiss it better, pwetty pwease?" Not that he minded all that much.

He laid his head on Party's chest, listening to his heartbeat. It soothed him. As long as he was there, as long as he could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his lungs breathing air, Fun knew he was safe. That's all that mattered.