every ship is equal, and no one is more powerful than the sea.

[derogatory]

FIVE THINGS MEME

HOW TO PLAY
- Give me as many "five things" prompt for any characters or fandom that you know I'm into
- I will try to write it
- no promises.


COMPLETE
five moments of gay panic for victor
four times victor missed nathan before finding him again (and one time he really didn't)
five disastrous toasts from victor and nathan's big gay wedding
five things about avenger victor and supervillain karolina
five times chase and victor were not friends
five ways victor's bad end could've gone
four successful missions nathan and victor went on (and one that could have gone a lot better)
five moments inside the mentor's lounge
five times victor regretted letting nathan move in

Comments

[derogatory]

iv.
“Stop distracting me,” Victor laughs, and the electromagnetic field deflects a couple stray bullets. He draws back the pulse before hurling it over the makeshift barricade across the street. He claws back onto his feet, a withering grin in Nathan’s direction.

“Oh, so it’s my fault every time I look at you, you’re on your ass?” he snickers, resting his arms on his knees. Nathan is being all of fuck nothing help, sitting in the rubble and talking shit rather than trading blow with whatever new alien race thought New York was an ace place to invade. “You’re the proper superhero here, at least try and stay on your feet.”

“You need to get to cover,” Victor warns him, still smiling, taking a few steps forward before the hail of some kind of metal projectile knock his shield back. He wavers unsteady on his feet before catching his balance this time, huffing in frustration at how his strategy went from inadvisable to pinned down in about ten minutes flat. “Stay out of range, I don’t want to knock any bullets your way-” An explosion rocks the building across from them and Victor spots the glint of the shrapnel soar past him, towards Nathan and moves too slow.

“Stay down,” he orders, crouched over the other man, putting up the shield behind them in case any more debris reaches their side. He can feel glass digging into the back of his arms. “Pinche culero- You all right?” Nathan squints after him, fingers testing the bloody mess his abdomen has turned into. Victor swears again, lashing out with a pulse at an enemy too smart to get close enough to hit, just let the collapsing scenery do its work for them.

“I dunno, will I need any of these organs oozing outta me?” Nathan croaks.

“It’s not that bad,” Vic responds instantly, but keeps a hand on his shoulder to hold Nathan back from sitting up. His wrist twists with muscle memory, with the feel of Nathan under his hands, bloody and bruised and christ, that’s what you think of now? He stops himself short of an apology, no need to let your wounded best friend know you’re imagining what it was like to murder him.

“Can it be?” Nathan asks, and there’s glass in his hair. “At least if I die I get to sleep half of this assignment off.” He tries to raise his arms in a shrug and he cries out. That’s it, that’s exactly what it sounded like to kill your best friend slowly, twisting dulled knives between his ribs.

“Dios,” he breathes and pushes Nathan’s hands back down over the wounds to try to stem some of the blood, keep him from making that noise. His chest feels funny under the soaked shirt- not that he’d been thinking about what Nathan’s chest felt like, obviously. “Shut up, you’re not dying. I’ll get a medic.”

“Ah, fuck it,” he groans. “Look, I’ll go crawl under a sign or something, take an hour or two of a dirt nap, come back good as new.” He grins with too nice teeth, weren’t guys in England supposed to have fucked up teeth? How’d he get such a perfect dumbass grin. Victor can’t share the expression, and angrily puts Nathan’s hands back over the pulsing chest wound, the rapidly growing mess of blood between them.

Nathan coughs, “No more distractions. Oi. Careful,” he warns and Victor narrowly ducks (shoving Nathan’s head down along with him) from the trajectory of another set of shrapnel.

“Can you be more specific than ‘careful!’” he snarls, feeling something sharp twist along his elbow. He’s found it gets easier to run on adrenaline if you don’t look at whatever stabbed you, old superhero trick. Nathan’s trying to sit up again. “Stop moving around!” Victor’s caught between trying to shove him and hold him together while Nathan squirms free. Miserably, Victor settles on the second, realizing a medic wouldn't be able to fix this.

“You know,” Nathan rests against his elbows. “You’re over-reactin’, it’ll only take- what’s it now? Seven minutes? I’m getting quick at it, must be all this practice.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive, pendejo!” he snaps, blood to his wrists. “Since you suck so much at doing it yourself.”

“Aw, Robocop,” Nathan’s laugh is more of a gurgle than anything else. “It’s getting late and you’re getting sassy, so I’m just gonna go die now. Bring me back up when you’re through pitching a fit.”

“Don’t,” Victor groans and Nathan rolls his eyes, trying to extract Victor's hands.

“Why the fuck not-”

“Because I don’t want you to die, I want you here with me, okay?” It would be wrong to say the silence that follows Victor’s snap was particularly loud, since bullets and explosions were still happening all around them. It was loud enough, Victor concedes with a cringe, hurriedly turning away from Nathan’s confused expression, running electricity through some nearby re-bar to locate any hostiles. He really hopes there’s something nearby he can kill that isn’t his best friend.

“Okay,” Nathan manages at last, voice small behind him. “But I’m still gonna go ahead and die now.”





He’s a fucking liar. It takes twelve minutes. It only took eight for Victor to start panicking, to imagine these scenarios where he has to turn over the body to the science interns, to think about going back to Guadalajara and never talking about Avengers or New Moore, or weird feelings again. At least not ones about an undead Irishman. He stops counting the minutes around ten, otherwise preoccupied. It takes him a minute to notice Nathan waking up, growling at his ruined shirt. He nods in recognition to Victor, resting against a broken display frame.

“All right. So I’m working on the time thing,” he offers apologetically. “We good?” Victor nods, inching back into a seat alongside his friend, best friend, literally nothing more. He keeps his eyes elsewhere, at a fire inside a real estate office down the road.

“Can you please forget I said anything embarrassing?” he wheezes.

“Never,” Nathan says, and he’s trying to catch Victor’s eyes, uncomfortably less amused by the situation by the second, bordering on terrified. “Anything else you wanna say?” he asks, reaching up to put a hand on Victor’s arm, pulling back when he feels the crunch of metal and glass under his uniform sleeve.

“Yeah,” Victor coughs more red onto Nathan’s jacket. “Can you take me to the hospital?”

“Oh, fuck!”