#wolf attack

Vans eye… In the wolf attack Van’s retina detached and never healed well. They now have only 50% vision in that eye.

Van thought their eye would heal but over the months post attack they realised that was not going to happen (queue a break down in the realisation that they were “broken”. Also queue Tai finding them and comforting Van saying they were beautiful and handsome etc)

When Van is having nightmares Tai traces patterns around their scars to calm them.

Nat thinks Van looks and I quote “fucking sick dude”

In the summer months in the wilderness it took Van a while to go shirtless (sports bra only or not just vibe it) it wasn’t until Tai started drooling over Vans shoulder muscles that they had the confidence.

Back in society Van wishes she could go back to the wilderness where nobody would stare at her because of her scars.

In the hospital after they were rescued Van was kept in for long for reconstructive surgery on their jaw. All they ended up doing was removing some scar tissue but nothing that helped.

Tai likes to kiss all of Van’s scars obvi.

Van wears glasses with different prescriptions help their vision.

Although 50% blind bright sunlight really affect their eye so they often are wearing sunglasses.

(Stepparent Van)

Van allows Sammy to draw with felt tips around their scars to make “Sammy tattoos” , one time he accidentally used sharpies… Tai couldn’t stop laughing at the fact that Van has a 6 year olds version of a dragon on their face that wouldn’t come off.

Hours pass during the lethargic and sluggish limp the battered pilots maintain, until the sun seems to reach the highest point in the sky and begin its descent towards the west. Jake knows as he focuses only on the point in front of him that they need to keep moving. The air is getting colder and his body is not only dealing with his injuries but hypothermia as well. His flight suit is singed to pieces, offering very little protection in this chilly wind and though Rooster’s uniform is in much better shape his body hunches as though freezing as well. The issue is that Jake doesn’t feel cold or not like he should walking in a winter wonderland of harsh winds and snow drifts. He can try to chalk it up to the exertion of carrying his wingman and himself for miles but something still doesn’t feel right.

Just another concern for Jake to hide from Bradley.

The other man has enough problems to worry about as it is. His leg looks more and more painful with each step the team makes despite his attempts at staying off it. Rooster has passed the point of wincing with each movement, adapting to alternating moans, groans, and whimpers that make Jake want to hit something for reducing Bradley freaking Bradshaw to this quivering mess. There’s nothing to hit besides tree trunks though so the blonde pilot opts to just shoulder more weight, his ribs screaming in protests and his lungs closing up more. He shouldn’t be able to do this much walking, should be in a hospital bed on the carrier or back at North Island but well, life has never been fair to Jake Seresin and it’s not about to start. He is a master at compartmentalizing though so the pain and the hurt get locked away, the key forgotten. The only thing Jake cares about is getting Bradley out of here.

A noise behind them startles the two; Jake jumping more than he would normally allow himself but he doesn’t have to be too mortified as Bradley is just as distressed. The noise sounds again and Hangman knows it’s some kind of wildlife, big too if the snap of twigs is any indication. The last thing the two Americans need is some sort of ‘The Revenant’ level bear fight so he moves to get Bradley’s attention back on task, “Come on” he urges.

“But-“ another branch is broken, closer now. “What the hell was that?” Rooster whisper shouts as he shifts to look behind them, taking Jake’s momentum with them. It’s only through sheer force of will that the blonde keeps them standing. “Did you hear that?” Bradley’s face is paling.

“It’s nothing, we need to keep going.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing” the brunette is stubbornly planting his feet, halting any more movement from the duo, “maybe it’s soldiers-“

Jake shakes his head, “It’s not soldiers.”

“How do you know?”

Hangman sighs, mustering up some annoyance for his tone in order to badger Bradley enough to let them keep going, “because soldiers don’t sound like that. That was an animal or something.”

“An animal?” if Bradley’s voice cracks at the end Jake is too tired to tease him on it. Instead he gives another long suffering sigh, “yes Bradshaw, this is the wilderness we’re stuck in-“

“What kind of animals are out here?”

Jake’s no expert but he’s fairly certain he hears a growl from somewhere to their left. The words ‘sitting ducks’ flash in his mind and he suddenly wishes that they were facing another helicopter instead of whatever grizzled beast is stalking their shadow. He’s never been shot before but Jake is fairly certain a bullet will kill him a lot faster and a lot less painfully than being shredded by some carnivore’s teeth. He all but pulls Bradley back in the right direction, “we need to keep moving-“ he pleads but another growl cuts the sound from his throat.

Rooster hears this one, his face turning as white as the snow around him as he turns in the direction of the sound. “What is that?”

“Probably a wolf, maybe a Siberian tiger” Jake tugs again, but Bradley is as solid as a brick shit house when he wants to be and he’s not moving. “Bradshaw we need to move-“

“S-Siberian tiger?”

Jake is reminded that though he was born in Pennsylvania, Bradley grew up in sunny California for most of his life. The only wildlife the brunette has probably ever seen was at zoos or exhibits. Jake himself has seen a few small coyotes from his days in rural Texas but the most dangerous animals he’s ever faced are snakes which feel quite inadequate in the face of a looming predator.

A howl snaps Jake’s mind back to their predicament, the answer to the question of what is waiting for them in the trees finally solved as a wolf stalks out in the clearing. It’s a beautiful creature, all things considering; its fur thick and tufted of meshed grey’s and white’s. Its snout is pointed a bit in the air, sniffing the humans’ trail right to the end, and Jake isn’t sure if he’s imagined the slight upturn of its mouth as the wolf recognizes that it just found its next food source.

Rooster is trembling next to him, the words shocked out of him as he pants in clear distress. Jake’s arm slowly untangles from under the brunette and he steps away, leaving Bradley balancing on his own. The sound of whimpered alarm escapes from his wingman before Jake turns back, surprise coloring his features. Rooster meets his gaze with a glare of grim acceptance before the older man motions for the blonde to head away. It dawns on Jake then what his partner thinks he was trying to do and he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt. Bradley is clearly expecting Hangman to bolt, to leave him to the wolf and save only himself. Jake shouldn’t be surprised, he’s earned his nickname many times over, but it still stings.

But Jake isn’t Hangman, or at least not that Hangman today and he moves not to leave Rooster, but to stand in between the brunette and the wolf. There is a moment of Bradley’s stunned expulsion of air that feels like vindication to Jake but it doesn’t last long as the wolf strikes.

The wolf lunges giving Jake all of two seconds to take one more step away from his fellow pilot and get his hands back up to brace. The collision from the powerful beast into the blonde’s battered body sends him immediately to the ground and his head connects sharply enough for him to see black dots in his vision. Jake’s adrenaline is the only thing that keeps him conscious as pain erupts all over, the wolf’s paws landing on his chest with a force of a freight train. The animal’s teeth are dangerous close to his face, drool spilling all over the blonde as he struggles to hold his arms up as some sort of blocker. The move earns him a wolf bite to his right forearm, the wolf clamping down and breaking the skin with what feels like knifes. Jake screams, loudly, not even registering that he’s broadcasting his position to enemy troops or other animals, though he would gladly take the soldiers if they get him the hell out of the razor sharp hold on his arm. He feels blood begin to drip as the wolf shakes his limb in its grasp, his bones getting precariously close to snapping. His mind is becoming overwhelmed with the sensations, shutting down as this wolf leans closer to take its prize. All Jake can hope for is that it ends quickly and that Bradley has used his sacrifice to crawl to safety. His leg might be broken but imminent danger is a powerful thing and the brunette is resourceful when he wants to be. Hangman imagines the big man huddled up in a tree and it brings a smile to his face, out of place as a mixture of wolf saliva and his own blood ooze down on his hair and forehead. The wolf’s teeth have dropped his arm and moved to devour the entrée, Jake’s face. The blonde closes his eyes.

A high pitch whimper comes from over him and suddenly the weight pummeling him into the snow is lifted as the wolf bolts. Jake opens his eyes to see Bradley waving a thick branch above him as he yells but the words are so muffled to the blonde’s ears, he can’t make it out. Rooster stands tall above him, making Jake feel small and insignificant. He assumes the wolf has run away when Bradley drops the weapon he had been brandishing (though still keeping it close) and all but falls next to Jake in the snow. His hands immediately hover, almost as though afraid to touch, his eyes comically wide. “S-Seresin” Bradley murmurs, sniffing back a sob of what sounds suspiciously of barely concealed anguish, “Oh God Seresin.”

Jake is still laying face up in the snow, his bitten and bleeding arm falling onto his battered chest as his lips tremble with the exertion of just trying to get oxygen in let alone speak any words. He can’t fathom what to even say if he could. His muscles are tense yet pliant, the fight or flight instinct slowly seeping away and leaving him in a stuttered state of unsure being. Everything hurts but yet almost from a distance, as though Jake’s body is ready to just let go at just the barest hint. The blonde is ready to embrace it, to shut it all down and just welcome the inevitable until he feels Bradley sob again next to him. “Seresin- Jake- shit you’re okay, it’s okay” the older pilot sounds like he is pleading but he takes trembling fingers to his injured teammate’s face, “stay- stay with me” he sniffles.

“I-I’m here” Jake offers up his left arm in a staggering effort and is pleased when the brunette grips his good arm as though it were a lifeline. “The wolf?” he questioned, scared that in this time of respite the wolf will be back with reinforcements.

“I think I scared it off” Bradley takes a wide look around them, his shoulders hitched as his hand not still clutching Jake moves to reach for the branch once more, “I don’t see anything” he informs.

“Smart to use…” Jake’s breathing is labored as he struggles to speak, “the branch” he finishes, finding his teammate’s brown eyes falling back to his injured body.

“Smarter than your plan” Bradley offers back, though there is no malice behind his words, just devastating concern. It hits Jake just as hard, “what were you thinking?” Bradshaw questions.

The blonde would shrug if he were able but his body just stays prone, “I… wasn’t-“he admits.

The scoff Rooster gives back sounds strangely fond, “well that’s obvious. Taking on a wolf like that, you really are going to lead me to an early grave Seresin.”

Jake’s face blanches at his teammates voice, remembering the time in the Hard Deck a few weeks ago that feels like a former lifetime but still stings. Of course Bradley is right, his actions were reckless and instead of saving Rooster he actually put him in more danger by forcing the brunette to come and save him. Feeling once more like the failure he always ends up being Jake closes his eyes and turns his face away, “I didn’t mean to” he muffles out, “you should have left me.”

“Hey” Bradley is gripping his chin, forcing Jake’s green eyes back to meet his gaze, “I meant because you gave me a goddamn heart attack you moron” he chides gently, his own eyes wet with unshed tears, “you are the biggest pain in my ass Seresin but you don’t get to die on me, not like that. I need you out here okay? So no more playing hero with wolves or tigers or anyone. We are getting out of here together, understood?”

“I don’t want to kill you too” he whispers back.

Bradshaw’s face shifts and for an agonizingly long second it looks like he might just start to bawl before he manages the saddest smile Jake has ever seen. The older man bites on his bottom lip, “I’d be dead without you buddy, okay? Don’t think I forgot that.”

“I’d be dead without you.”

“Crazy what teamwork does, doesn’t it?” Bradley teases, his hand landing gently on top of Jake’s heart. “We can get out of this Jake, we can” he reiterates when he sees a look of disbelief from his wingman, “if we work together okay? Like we used to.”

“I don’t think I can do it” the blonde admits weakly, motioning to his prone and bruised body.

“Well we are going to take a little rest first okay?” Bradley moves closer, “and then when we get some of your energy back we can start moving again.”

“But the wolf-“

“Don’t worry about that” the other man urges softly, “you just rest and think about what you will do when we get back to the carrier.”

Jake closes his eyes and thinks of how wonderful a warm bed would feel under him. Normally the blonde hates being confined in the medical wing but right now he would do anything to be under the careful ministrations of the nurses and doctors on the carrier’s medical staff. A grumble from the stomach of the man next to him informs Jake of what Rooster is thinking about and he can’t help the weak laugh that tumbles out of him, “thinking about lunch Br-Bradshaw?” he mocks.

“Thinking about a platter of wings from the Hard Deck” Bradley admits not even phased by Jake’s chiding.

The blonde nods, “and a pitcher of beer.”

“Playing the piano-“

“Demolishing everyone at darts and pool-“

Rooster rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, “Penny letting us close out the place-“

“Maverick covering our first round-“

Bradley snorts, “you saved my life Seresin, I’m pretty sure Mav is covering more than just your first round.”

“We completed a suicide mission Bradshaw; we better get all our drinks covered for the rest of our lives.”

“Damn straight” Rooster’s voice carries the teasing southern drawl of Texas, mocking Hangman’s tone and inflection from his statement that first day of mission briefing with Captain Mitchell when he held up the F-18 manual. The sound brings a smile to Jake’s lips as he lifts a weak hand to knock Bradley’s wrist two times fondly, “damn straight” he agrees.

The jovial exchange tampers down, leaving the two in a not quite uncomfortable silence. Rooster’s eyes are still watching their surroundings, his hand still a presence on the blonde’s chest. The feeling is warm on his hypothermic body and it forces Hangman to lower his defenses. “I want to go home” Jake whispers, and the embarrassment he expects isn’t there, or he’s just too broken to notice it anymore. Tears start to fall from his eyes, sliding down his temple and mixing with the disgusting concoction of liquid on his face. He sniffles treacherously, his mouth contorting in grief over his predicament, “I really want to go home.”

“I’ll get you home.” It’s a hard promise, especially from a man with only one functioning leg but Bradley seems determinedly steadfast and Jake knows how stubborn the Bradshaw man can be. He nods, wincing at the effort and then whimpering as his body starts to recognize how cold he is still laying completely flushed in the snow. Rooster picks up on it of course and moves to be right next to the blonde, cautiously helping the man to sit up while being mindful of all the injuries. His arm seems to have stopped bleeding, the snow doing the trick but leaving the glaring evidence of the wolf’s sharp grasp in the penetrated holes in his forearm. They are vicious wounds, stark and ugly on his once unblemished skin. Jake wants to cry more at the sight but any hope of vanity has been all but demolished at this point. The blonde doesn’t disguise his pitiful sniffle though.

Bradley looks up and manages a tiny grimace as he tucks Jake’s shredded arm carefully into the younger man’s chest. Rooster bundles the smaller man up with a gentleness that should seem foreign for the big man but instead is surprisingly instinctual. “Here we go” the brunette muses, taking Jake’s shivering form carefully and cuddling him into his own body. Just the tiniest stroke of comfort feels amazing to the touch starved blonde pilot and Jake can’t stop the whimpered sob that escapes his mouth as Bradley pulls him just that little bit closer until Hangman is cradled under the crook of Rooster’s neck. In any other situation Jake would be mortified at himself and at his partner for this cuddle session but now he just feels safe, a sensation that’s been absent from his life for as long as he can remember. He allows himself to bury his face more into Bradley’s chest, enjoying being held.

Rooster shaking hands find purchase as he wipes at the blonde’s face to clear it of its prior mess but with a feather light touch that shows he is still being cautious of the burns on Jake’s skin.

When the man is finished Jake expects Bradley to lower his hand but instead the other man moves to carefully card through Jake’s tussled blonde hair, the motions reassuring and lulling the injured man into an almost sleep like state. “It’s okay” Bradshaw sounds like he is crying but Jake is too tired to look up and see for sure, “you’re okay,” the older man continues as though he is willing his words into reality, “you’re going to be okay.”

Jake knows he should be Hangman again, should push Rooster’s hands away with a sneer and an eye roll but everything seems so exhausting. Instead of getting them back up and trying to get home, the younger pilot forgets his promises to Maverick and himself and just lets himself snuggle into the warmth of his teammate’s chest. The respite from the wind and the cold feels so good to Jake right now and he feels his eye lids start to droop. The last thing he hears is Bradley’s continuing mantra of comfort, telling Jake how he ‘is okay’, and ‘it’s all going to be alright’, before Hangman falls into sweet oblivion once more.

——————————————————————————

“Geralt, no! Don’t come any closer! You could be killed! Stay back!” 

The trained monster-slayer nearly stopped in his tracks. Nearly. 

No one had ever been concerned for his safety before. Usually they were too busy panicking to care who got hurt and who didn’t; they just didn’t want to die. Jaskier had told Geralt to stay back. Jaskier had begun to care for him and his wellbeing. 

The Beast finally grew close enough to do some kind of damage. He raised his sword and brought it down on the first wolf. The creature dropped to the ground and its packmate leapt, already opening its wide maw to bite at Geralt wherever it could reach. There hadn’t been time to put any armor on and the white-haired Witcher grunted in pain as the wolf’s sharp teeth sunk into the meat of his shoulder. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried. The young man ran forward, brandishing a pointed tree branch at the other wolves. He swung it in wide circles, batting the animals away as well as he could in an effort to reach Geralt’s side. “Fight back, my Beast! Please!”

Geralt obeyed. He cut down the wolf whose pointed teeth had torn his shoulder before taking on another two starving and half-crazed canines. The last handful of wolves, seeing their comrades bleeding out in a snowdrift, raced back into the forest with their tails between their legs. When he was sure it was safe, Jaskier reached out and wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist. “Let’s get you inside so I can take a look at that wound.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine when I say you’ll be fine,” Jaskier admonished. The acrid, burnt-coffee scent of fear was gone from the boy completely. Now there was only the soft, gently invasive scent of worry, like mint and chamomile. Comforting. He cares very deeply, Geralt realized as he was half-carried back to the door of the keep and bundled into a comfortable armchair before the sitting room fire. Jaskier cares about me and wants me to live. He’s worried about my health. He...he...

“Jaskier, really, it’ll be okay.”

“Hush,” the human frowned. Geralt saw tears gathering in the corner of Jaskier’s eyes and he wiped one away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t move please, Geralt. I need to get bandages. And warm water.”

“Just get the warm water. The bandages won’t be necessary.”

“How else will I keep you from bleeding all over your clothes?”

“I’m already halfway healed, see?” Geralt smiled, glancing down at holes in his shoulder where the wolf’s teeth tore through. They were already growing smaller and closing up. “Witcher magic.”

Jaskier was shocked. “You’re...you’re a Witcher?”

“Did you really think I was some kind of cursed Prince like the stories say?”

Jaskier stood and moved to the doorway, “I don’t care what you are, Geralt.”

Then he disappeared around the corner.

---

Geralt lay with his head on Jaskier’s outstretched legs. The young man paused his reading, his eyebrows crinkling together. “Beast,” he whispered, “Why did you ask for a consort?”

“Kaer Morhen is so lonely in the winters,” Geralt sighed. He glanced up, meeting Jaskier’s curious gaze, “People are scared of Witchers but since there are so few of us left...I thought they would ask for a willing volunteer. I thought I would have someone waiting with luggage for me to court them. I could have dealt with someone who was slightly frightened but totally willing. I’m sorry that they stole you away and offered you up to me like that, little bird.”

“If you think about it in the right light,” Jaskier mused. “It was almost romantic. You could have been the big, scary monster everyone warned me about. You could have eaten me alive or left me there for the wolves. Instead you gave me your cloak and carried me all the way home.”

Geralt’s heart stuttered in his chest. Home? “Do you consider Kaer Morhen your home?”

“I do now, my Beast. My Geralt. It was frightening at first but the village elders could not have made me happier in their stupidity. I am very content to be here with you; to be courted by you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt blushed lightly and nuzzled his way back into the crease of Jaskier’s hip. The accidental consort of Kaer Morhen had quickly discovered that his betrothed loved nothing more than being petted and caressed. The Beast would lay his head on Jaskier’s lap and nose his way into the crook between Jaskier’s hip and thigh and stay there for hours. His consort would play with his hair, sing to him, and read to him from any book he fancied. It was heaven. “Sing for me, little bird?”

“Am I to be your caged lark, now?”

“Never,” Geralt growled. “You can always leave if you’d like.”

“I’d rather stay,” Jaskier smiled, placing a reassuring hand on the back of his Beast’s warm neck. “I would rather stay and be wooed and courted by my gentle Beast.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier began to run his hands through Geralt’s soft white hair, braiding it and picking it apart as he sang:

“I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel, I'll sell my only spinning wheel, To buy my love a sword of steel; Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.

“I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red, And 'round the world I'll beg my bread, Until my parents shall wish me dead; Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.”

“I could listen to you sing forever, little bird,” Geralt murmured. He was purring again, a sound that Jaskier loved and adored. “I love hearing your voice.”