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Dislocated joints are actually very fun whump concepts. Think about it:
First you have the initial injury. Be it a dislocated shoulder, hip, knee, all potential locations are dehibilitating, losing the use of that arm or being unable to walk, etc.
Also that every time the whumpee tries to move the dislocated limb they risk making it worse and intensify the pain.
Then... then you have treatment. Forcing a dislocated joint back into place is NOT FUN. Not for the whumpee, not for the caretaker. And if someone inexperienced tries and messes it up... oh boy oh boy we making it worse!
And of course you have all the issues that might come about after the joint is fixed, such as strained muscles, sprained ligaments and tendons, nerve damage, vascular (blood vessel) issues, stiff joints/osteoarthritis... the list goes on.
Anyway thinking about this bc someone I know irl dislocated both their knees on separate occasions, (and it took like four medical professionals to put it back in place). Also I remembered a scene in Mom's Night Out (2014) where Sam dislocates his shoulder and instead of letting a medical professional set it he slammed. His shoulder. Into a wall. And shoved it back in place. In the storming emergency room. In front of the receptionist. I cringe every time.
Note: I love Shatterpoint lineage but writing female characters doesn't come easy to me... Still, I hope you enjoy! :)
@juneofdoom
Padawan Depa Billaba injures herself while sparring and somehow misses the chance to tell her master. Not that Master Windu won't figure her out, sooner or later. He is not as disappointed as she feared.
Depa didn’t exactly plan to lie Master Windu like that. She doesn’t like to lie to him in general because he figures her out sooner or later anyways, and when he does, he usually isn’t amused at all.
This lie, however, was simply the results of a sparring session with her sister in the early morning that went down the hill at some point. Sar had been away on a mission for the last few months and during her time away, she had become surprisingly quick in combat
It was Depa’s mistake, really, to underestimate the speed with which she was able to strike back, making Depa stumble and fall from the platform. The pain that shoots through her shoulder is immediate, sharp, stretching all the way into her fingertips.
She barely manages to suppress a sharp cry, forces herself to lie down on the floor. Sar is by her side immediately, landing cattishly on the floor.
“Depa. I’m so sorry,” she starts, crouching down next to her and helps her sit up.
“I’m good,” Depa forces out, trying to get the air back into her lungs while pushing herself up with her good arm.
The one she fell on feels numb, all the way up to the shoulder where searing pain bleeds into her collarbone and up her neck.
“Are you sure?” Sar frowns, a worried look on her face. “I can take you to the Halls of Healing if you’d like.”
“No,” Depa answers, quickly. “I’ll just put some ice on it.”
She does exactly that once she returns to the quarter rooms and peaks inside to learn that luckily Master Windu isn’t around. She can barely move her arm, it hangs down by her side almost entirely useless.
That night she soon realizes that maybe hiding her injury was a bad idea. For a long moment, she ponders on seeing Master Windu about it.
Depa decides against it, mostly because she only recovered from a fever a few weeks ago. Not being able to train was getting annoying. She suspects that Master Windu found it annoying too.
Her excuses for why she doesn’t have time for training last all of two days before Master Windu manages to corner her and she knows that there isn’t an excuse that will save her from a sparring match now.
Still, at first she flees to her room. Tries to steel herself, tries to make her arm mobile, tries to talk herself through the exercise.
It’s no use, she still can barely move her arm and every soft stretch sparks pain in her shoulder, bringing tears to her eyes.
“Depa.” Oh no, Mace has that tone in his voice. She immediately knows that she is busted. Did she let her force shields slip?
“May I come in?” She tries to whip her face with her good arm swiftly, but she barely manages before Master Windu gently opens the door a sliver.
“You may,” she answers, trying to sound as neutral as possible.
Mace enters slowly but when he spots her sitting on the floor, he is by her side almost immediately, carefully wrapping an arm around her.
“Padawan. Can you tell me what is wrong?”
Depa sniffles and wipes away some more tears.
Mace gently presses the back of his hand against her cheek before brushing his hand over her hair. The braids are two days old and usually she takes way better care of her hair, redoes it every morning even if it ends up in the same style. Now there are strands and fuzz sticking out, making the entire thing look messy.
“I fell on my shoulder,” she mutters, starring at the ground.
Mace can feel the pain radiating from her smaller body. It worries him greatly. The last two days, she has felt off in the force but now all her shields seem to be crumbling.
No wonder, she looks beyond exhausted. Her pale face only makes the eyebags stand out more clearly.
“May I see?” He requests.
Depa nods and unfolds the first layer of robs, pushing them off her shoulder clumsily.
At first glance, Mace can see that there is something wrong with the limb. It looks… just a little off. There is a dip over her collarbone that he is pretty sure shouldn’t be there.
He rests his hand over the curve of her shoulder, noticing the bright, hot pain rising from it.
She pales further which is truly impressive, considering the skin around her nose and forehead are already rivaling the white of her sheets.
“I assume this injury is already two days old?” At least, that is when he noticed that she was avoiding him. At first, Mace had attributed her odd behaviour to some sort of minor inconvenience. Apparently he was wrong. It is a surprise— and somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks it is a display of skill— that she managed to shield him from noticing her pain.
Depa nods. Mace sighs.
He gently wraps his hand around her healthy upper arm.
“Up you get, Spitfire. This demands a trip to the healers.”
She gets to her feet, and he stirs her down the hall before she can start to argue. Mace knows how stubborn she can be.
It seems like she has no fight left to give. The way she complies so easily worries Mace. She sticks close to his side, and he does his best to shield her from any curious gazes.
It takes Healer Apprentice Vokara Che one look at Depa to determine that her shoulder is dislocated.
“You should not drag an injury like this around for longer than a few hours. Next time come and see us immediately,” she lectures.
Mace stands to the side while the blue Twi’lek examines Depa’s arm more closely. His padawan is sitting sunken together on the edge of the biobed, lets the older teen talk.
Finally, Vokara turns to Mace. He face is a picture of focus.
“I will go talk to the Chief Healer and then we can fix this right away,” she explains.
Mace nods which seems to be good enough for her, since she turns around and hurries off into the mace of the Halls of Healing.
Mace takes a few steps towards Depa and sits down by her side, resting an arm around her. She leans her cheek against his shoulder. One of her buns brushes against his face and he thinks that she should probably offer to redo her hair for her. It must bother her greatly.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, quietly to not disturb the healing silence in the halls.
“I’m sorry. It was stupid.”
“It was.” He lets the silence linger for a few moments, partially to make sure she actually learns her lesson. If she pulls more of stunts like this one, Mace fears he will go grey before her apprenticeship ends.
“Would you like me to braid your hair?” He finally breaks the silence.
Depa looks up at him, still with wet eyes but also nods barely noticeable.
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While this had never happened before, it was an inevitability considering Peter’s primary mode of transportation. Web swinging was dangerous. Hell it was straight up deadly. He could drop from the sky and become a spider shaped splat on the New York pavement. He could fly into a building at high speeds like a bird into a window. Or he could get caught on something and yanked out of momentum mid swing, wrenching his arm sharply out of its socket and leaving him dangling 80 feet in the air. Any guess as to which hypothetical situation Peter had found himself in now?
He had been mid fight with Vulture and the two had been in a high speed chase through the skyscrapers. He had swung out wide to avoid a sharp wing when suddenly he found himself yanked backwards. Caught on an out cropping, some stupid billboard hanging over the side of a building. His spider sense had warned him of the danger. But he had been too distracted, assuming the only danger was in fact the wing coming for his head.
With a loud cry of pain he grabbed the web for dear life before he could go flying off. There was a horrible sound when he snapped taught at the end of the web and then swung backwards. Narrowly missing the building and spinning around rapidly. He heard vulture cackle before flying off into the night. Luckily choosing to escape. He could have taken advantage of just how vulnerable Peter was right now. And it wasn’t lost on him that anyone else could take advantage of that vulnerability right now if he didn’t get out of this situation soon.
Excruciating pain radiating up his arm and down his shoulder. Burning enough to bring tears to his eyes. He panted heavily as his pendulum motion slowed. Keeping still because every swing made it worse. Made his grip slip just another inch. Once he had slowed enough he just barely managed to twist his wrist and wrap the webbing around his hand for a more secure hold. Groaning through gritted teeth as the motion pulled on his arm.
He was in a real pickle. The strand had wrapped around the arm of the billboard and left him hanging out away from the building. Suspended in mid air. He stretched a leg out but couldn’t reach the building. Barely coming close to the window level with his body. His body slumped slightly in disappointment before that jarred his arm and he held himself tight again.
Okay so. Not great. He needed to relieve pressure on the dislocated arm. Peter reached up for the strand of web with his good arm. He gave it a good swipe and missed. This made him grunt in pain. With a whine he once again hung there. Holding perfectly still while he waited for the sharp burning pull to turn back into a dull throb. With teeth bared he glanced down. A small crowd had started to gather below him. Not good. If social media got wind of this not only would he be deeply embarrassed but anyone online would know that right now Spiderman could do nothing to stop them.
On the up side if word did get out maybe, just maybe, one of the other New York heroes would stop by and give him a hand. That was really unlikely. Best outcome DD would show up. He could trust Daredevil to be professional about it. Hell he’d even take Deadpool. So long as it was not Johnny Storm or the rest of the Fantastic Four. If Johnny caught wind of this Peter would never live it down.
Taking another few steadying breaths he tilted his head back upwards. He couldn’t just sit there and wait for rescue. He wasn’t some damsel in distress. Reaching up with his good arm he shot another web up to the arm of the billboard. An immense relief as pressure was finally taken off his dislocated shoulder. Then he pressed the button on his web slingers to begin retracting the webbing and began to ascend slowly up to the billboard. His dislocated arm hung limp at his side once he had risen high enough that it was no longer held taught. He saw the metal beam from the billboard coming towards him and sighed in relief.
“Not so fast.”
With a sound like cutting paper the webbing holding his good arm snapped. And Peter plummeted back down, vision going white with pain when his dislocated arm was yanked sharply back up. He hardly realized he was screaming from the agony. He had been in so much pain he hadn’t really registered his Spider sense going off.
With an ugly cackle Vulture landed on the billboard. Of course he hadn’t left. Of course he’d noticed Spider-man’s vulnerable position. How easy it would be to take him out while he dangled helpless in the air.
“Look at you. You really do look like a spider now.”
Peter just dry heaved and tried not to throw up from how intense the pain and vertigo was. Unable to muster a response.
“Whats wrong? Got nothing funny to say?” Vulture took off again. Circling Peter like his namesake. Eyeing up the remaining web holding him up. If he cut it at least Peter wouldn’t be suffering anymore. But Vulture seemed content to prolong said suffering.
Peter breathed his way through the pain. His vision was blurring. Threatening to pass out from the intense pain in his arm. His grip was slipping. He was going to fall.
Suddenly Vulture was hit by a blast of flame that sent him flying against the building. He bounced off the wall before recovering and taking off again.
A warm presence rested behind Peter and took his weight off his arm.
“It’s okay Pete. Let it go.” The warmth spoke and he let go, trusting his weight to the warmth. He sunk into it in fact as it soothed his aching shoulder like a hot compress.
“I’ve got you.”
And as much as he hadn’t wanted Johnny to show up he was so relieved he had. The warmth of Johnny's body easing the ache in Peter like a warm compress. He looked up at Johnny briefly, barely able to make out the smug grin he was wearing. And then Peter swiftly passed out.
Asking because I just crashed my bicycle. I'm fine, but bruised, and my bike got a scar out of it.
Thanks so much for the ask, and sorry it took so long! I'm sorry you crashed your bike, but I'm so glad you're okay! :) This is an AU of The Eel Effect, because I rewatched it the other day and I think we're sleeping on the whump in that episode. It's phenomenal. I hope you enjoy! (Part below the cut because of length.)
♡
Hiccup shouted, throwing all his weight, all his energy and desperation, into steering a bucking, delirious Toothless toward the ground, to the trap he'd laid. Adrenaline flooded his body, granting him the boon of strength and dulling his aches and pains to mere pinpricks of discomfort.
But even his newfound strength could not bring Toothless under his control. Hiccup gritted his teeth and yanked on the saddle with all his might, eyes locked on the Typhoomerang burn mark far below, but growing steadily closer: Toothless had begun to plummet in earnest, screeching and twisting, trying to throw Hiccup off his back.
Panic fluttered against Hiccup's ribs, to the rhythm of his galloping heart. He pulled back on the saddle, urging Toothless to right himself, but no use—
"Toothless," Hiccup shouted over his dragon's frantic roaring and the wind shrieking in his ears, "if you're in there, we're going to—"
Hiccup's plea morphed into a ragged scream as he lost his grip and Toothless flung him out of the saddle. Pain lanced from his stump all the way up to his hip as his prosthetic was ripped from the pedal (oh, gods, it's not supposed to do that, why didn't it release?!) and the ground hurtled to meet him —
Reality fractured around the moment of impact, splintering into a cacophony of agony. He might have heard something snap, but that could have been the sound of his head striking the ground…
A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, and blackness played at the edges of vision so blurred he couldn't make out anything anyway.
Hiccup could barely remember his plan, could barely think, past the pain assaulting every nerve. He had no idea how badly he'd been injured or even where; he had dissolved into a writhing mass of pain, which spread like blood in the water to every part of his body. Nausea churned in his gut, and he swallowed back the burning bile rising in his throat.
A soft growl. Hiccup managed to raise his head fractionally off the ground, just enough to confirm through foggy vision Toothless, mind and body consumed by the illness, prowling closer. Thank the gods, between him and Toothless stretched the rope that would trigger Hiccup's trap. Just a couple more steps…
Click.
Toothless's front right paw snagged on the trip-line, and a well of relief sprung up inside of Hiccup, cooling the fiery pain blazing through his insides and lending him strength enough to heave himself to his knees just as the weighted net pinned Toothless to the ground. A new hurt bloomed in his chest, unrelated to his injuries but no less sharp. To see Toothless netted, scared, confused, held to the ground by a dragon trap that he had made… it broke something deeply inside of Hiccup, something that he knew would follow him for a long, long time.
But he pushed all that aside, because he didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered but Toothless, giving him the cure and hoping — praying, Odin, please let this work — that it would work on dragons, too. He needed his best friend back. He'd deal with his own wounds, physical and emotional, after he'd saved Toothless.
With a groan, Hiccup fumbled for his bag with his right hand, groping clumsily for the clay jar that held the cure. He couldn't get his left arm to cooperate, but he shoved away the gnawing panic too. Toothless wailed and struggled and snarled, and Hiccup died a little more inside with each sound of distress from his dragon's mouth.
Gods, bud, I'm so sorry.
Steeling himself against the insurmountable wall of pain trying to hold him back, Hiccup shuffled forward awkwardly on his knees, murmuring to Toothless all the while. "I know, bud. I know. I'm sorry, I know you're scared, but I promise—" His voice broke; how could he promise him anything when this idea was such a long shot? He cleared his throat, held out his right arm placatingly, fingers still wrapped tightly around his only hope. The clay jar felt cool against his palm, and somehow fragile. He anchored himself to that coolness, hardened himself against that fragility. Brought the jar to his mouth so he could uncork it with his teeth.
But then.
A high whine and a flicker of red at the back of Toothless's throat. Hiccup realized what was about to happen seconds before Toothless fired — or sneezed, or… whatever. Hiccup threw himself to the side, landing on his left side. Fresh pain, so acute he might have blacked out for a second or two, slammed into him and a scream was dragged from his throat. He lay there, consumed by the agony, vision dimming rapidly, unable to hear anything over the ringing in his ears, as Toothless threw off the charred remains of the net and locked onto Hiccup, eyes glazed, pupils dilated.
And — gods — Hiccup could do nothing but curl in on himself and tremble. He hoped Fishlegs would be able to get the cure to Toothless, somehow convince the Night Fury that this wasn't his fault, that Hiccup didn't blame him, that he wasn't in control of himself and that he would have never, ever hurt Hiccup if he hadn't been so sick and confused.
Another whine of an impending attack, another flicker of red, and Hiccup braced himself for the end. I'm so sorry I failed you, bud.
Thump.
Hiccup blinked away the encroaching darkness, jaw dropping at the sight of Meatlug, Fishlegs on her back, fully sitting on Toothless, pinning him hopelessly to the ground. Despite the agony ravaging his body, a breathless chuckle burst from Hiccup's lips. He'd been joking when he made the comment about Meatlug sitting on Toothless, but thank Thor that Meatlug had eaten a heavy breakfast this morning!
"Hiccup!" Fishlegs cried, stumbling off of Meatlug and rushing forward.
The barely restrained panic in Fishlegs's voice made Hiccup's own terror more potent, but he gasped, "Toothless first." He twitched the jar, still clutched in his right hand like it was the only thing tethering him to life. "Quick, give him the cure."
Fishlegs opened his mouth as if to argue, but closed it again and rushed forward to take the jar. Hiccup watched with bated breath as Fishlegs timidly approached a squirming Toothless, hiding his fear behind a veneer of soft words and gentle movements. A moment later, he cheered in success — Toothless had swallowed the cure! — and a couple of minutes after that, he whooped in triumph, which could only mean one thing. It had worked!
Barely able to keep his head above the rising river of relief, Hiccup allowed his eyes to drift shut and listened as Fishlegs's footsteps raced toward him, followed closely by the pad of Toothless's paws and a scared, uncertain warble.
♡
When Hiccup woke up, the blinding mass of pain began to shift and separate into different points of pain, most of them, he realized, concentrated on his left side.
His head pounded and ached and stabbed so fiercely that he slammed his eyes shut the moment he opened them. Even with his eyes closed, the pain made his gut churn. His ribs felt like they'd been stomped on by a Monstrous Nightmare, his stump throbbed with the promise of a bouquet of bruises, and his left shoulder — oh, Thor, his left shoulder — not only screamed in pain, but it felt… off. Wrong. And he still couldn't move his arm.
"Hiccup! How are you feeling?"
Hiccup grimaced and peeked an eye open to see Fishlegs, wringing his hands and with tight lines around his eyes and mouth, and Toothless, eyes huge and sad and swimming with guilt, staring down at him. "Like I was thrown off Toothless and crashed to the ground," he deadpanned, then winced at Toothless's mournful moan. "Aw, bud… I — I'm s-sorry. It wasn't… your fault." He gritted his teeth against a wave of pain. He slowly reached up with his right arm and scratched Toothless between the eyes, trying to pour every ounce of love and understanding into the touch. Toothless crooned and nuzzled his hand; the dragon was far from mollified, but they'd have to pick this back up once Hiccup's pain had retreated to a somewhat bearable level.
To Fishlegs: "Wh-what's the damage?"
Fishlegs gave Hiccup a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, you should live," he started lamely, and Hiccup cut him off.
"Should?"
"You'll definitely live," Fishlegs corrected hastily. "But… it's not great, Hiccup. I just finished checking you over, and…" He took a deep breath, then clinically recited Hiccup's laundry list of injuries, counting them off on his fingers. "Your pupils are uneven, and considering you can barely keep your eyes open, you definitely have a concussion. You're not bleeding, which is good, and I don't think your skull is fractured, but…" He trailed off, stared off into space for a second, then continued. "You've got four broken ribs, all on your left side. I'll have to make sure the bones are aligned and bind them before we can move you, or you risk puncturing a lung."
Hiccup blanched; he'd already been hurting before the crash from being blasted back into a tree. His head and his ribs had been aching ever since he'd woken up to find Toothless gone. But he'd pushed through, because Toothless needed him. Maybe he hadn't had a concussion before. Maybe his ribs had been bruised, not broken. But the crash had apparently finished the work the tree had started. "What else?" he asked hoarsely, throat dry from screaming.
"Your prosthetic was all twisted, and your stump is going to have some deep bruising, I think. You seem to have sprained your knee. At least, I don't think it's fractured? Gothi will know."
"What about my arm?"
Fishlegs shot Hiccup a sympathetic smile. "Dislocated. Pulled completely out of the socket. Can you move it at all?"
Through the buzzing panic, Hiccup tried to lift his arm. He couldn't. He tried his elbow, and though it hurt and sent an uncomfortable tingling sensation to his fingertips, he managed to bend it. He wiggled his fingers. That worked, too. "I can't move anything above my elbow," Hiccup answered.
"So some mobility, that's good, I'm sure," Fishlegs nodded. "I know Gothi will be able to relocate it properly."
"Can't you just… pop in back in place now?" Hiccup asked a bit desperately. He'd heard that putting a dislocated joint back in place could ease the pain immediately. The thought of riding back to Berk with his shoulder like this made him shudder.
Fishlegs hesitated. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Hiccup. I've never done anything like that before, and if I do it wrong, it could make your injury a lot worse. But I can secure it in a sling for the ride back. Immobilizing it will keep it from getting worse, and maybe it'll help with the pain a little, too?"
"M-maybe," Hiccup said glumly. Toothless crooned anxiously and Hiccup did his best to grin up at him. "Hey, bud, don't worry a-about me," he whispered. "I'm just… just glad you're better." Toothless lapped at Hiccup's face, then his hair, fretting like a mother hen, and Hiccup did actually manage a genuine laugh. "Th-thanks, Toothless," he said. "I'm fe-feeling better already." Toothless huffed; he knew a Hiccup-lie when he heard one.
"Okay," Fishlegs said after a long moment. "We need to get these ingredients in Toothless's saddle bag back to Berk. But first, let me bind your ribs and your arm. Do you want some willow bark? This is going to hurt, and it will help with the pain. And I'm sure Gothi will still have enough for her brew—"
Hiccup wanted so desperately to take Fishlegs up on his offer; as much as his ribs and arm hurt now, he knew that any manipulation of the injuries would be nothing short of torturous. But he gathered his resolve and said, "No. Can't take that chance."
"Hiccup—"
"Our pe-people come first, Fishlegs."
Fishlegs nodded, eyes glittering in the filtered sunlight. He looked scared, but his hands seemed steady. Without another word, he set to work. Even through the haze of fresh pain at even the tiniest movements, Hiccup couldn't help but notice that Fishlegs was a natural at this. Despite his obvious anxiety, he remained a calm and steady presence, and he worked quickly but efficiently as he eased Hiccup up and leaned him carefully against Toothless, then cut away his tunic and began studying the angry red and black splotches on Hiccup's chest. Hiccup's mind slowly separated itself from the pain, wondering vaguely if Fishlegs had ever thought about studying medicine. The riders could use a healer on the team, and Fishlegs seemed quite good—
Hiccup's mind snapped back into the boiling pit of pain and a scream tore from his throat. Fishlegs had stopped looking and had started pressing. A hand on his shoulder kept him from twisting away, and Hiccup groaned, "Fishlegs, what the Hel are you doing?"
Any other time, he'd feel bad about snapping at his friend, but right now, it was all Hiccup could do to keep himself from sobbing. Fishlegs sounded near tears himself when he answered, "I told you, I have to make sure the bones are aligned before I bind your ribs. Otherwise, you could pierce—"
"My lung. G-got it," Hiccup gritted out, flopping his head back against Toothless's chest with a hiss. Toothless trilled and nuzzled the top of his head, and for the rest of the time Fishlegs worked, first feeling then binding his ribs, and then securing his left arm securely to his body with strips cut from Hiccup's ruined tunic, Hiccup tried to focus solely on the warmth of Toothless's breath on his scalp, and the way his scales felt cool and smooth on his back, and the fact that he was okay, he was back to normal, he wasn't sick anymore. Grounding himself in Toothless didn't exactly lessen the pain — Hiccup still shouted and choked back sobs — but it did make it a bit easier to navigate.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, Fishlegs stood up and dusted his tunic. "I think that'll do until a real healer can treat you. I'm sure Gothi will want to examine you before—"
"Absolutely not," Hiccup interrupted. "Fi-first the cure, then me."
"Hiccup, you need—"
"I just need… everyone… to b-be okay," Hiccup slurred, the pain and exhaustion melding together to slow his mind and his words. "Promise me, Fishlegs."
Fishlegs bit his lip, then nodded. "Okay. I'll make sure she whips up the remedy first. But you have to let her treat you without a fuss after."
Hiccup felt the ghost of a smirk pull at one corner of his mouth. Fishlegs knew him too well. "Okay, fine," he grumbled.
"And you have to do whatever she says to heal."
"I will, Fishlegs."
"Even rest. Especially rest. Even I can tell you'll be on bedrest for at least a week, and that'll mean no flying."
Hiccup scowled. "Wonderful. For the first time in my life, I actually manage not to catch Eel Pox, and I end up bedridden anyway. I'm pretty sure this is the gods' way of saying they hate me."
Fishlegs ducked and glanced around nervously, like he expected a lightning bolt to jolt down from the cloudless sky and strike them both down. When this didn't happen, he straightened warily. "The gods don't hate you, Hiccup. How could they?"
"Well, then, I'm their fav-favorite punching bag," Hiccup grimaced.
"That's not…" Fishlegs trailed off, gazing into the far distance. "Uh, yeah, that… that might actually be true."
Hiccup's laugh turned into a groan as his friend helped him to his foot. Fishlegs had to support most of his weight, with Hiccup hunched over, mostly limp, in his arms. But somehow, between Fishlegs, Meatlug, and Toothless, they managed to heave Hiccup into Toothless's saddle. Fishlegs climbed on behind him and put his foot on the pedal tentatively. "Oh, man, I really don't like flying Toothless," he fretted. Toothless chuffed indignantly. "No offense," he added. "It's just, you're a little… fast for my taste."
"D-don't worry, 'Legs," Hiccup murmured as he felt himself begin to drift in earnest, the overload of pain and the bone-deep exhaustion dragging him toward the sweet relief of unconsciousness. If he passed out, he knew Toothless would guide Fishlegs throughout the flight, get them back safely. "T-toothless'll take it nice and slow. Won't ya, bud?"
Toothless warbled in agreement. Fishlegs heaved a great breath, presumably steeling himself, then said, "Okay. I can do this. Let's get you home."
