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Whumptober #20: Blanket (Biggles)
This continues on directly from the car crash ficlet in the previous Whumptober post. Now in Biggles's POV.
No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”
"Someone needs to search the wreckage for the papers," Algy said, looking down at Biggles, who was crouched beside von Stalhein. "I'm going to guess you'd rather stand lookout this time."
"I don't mind the search." Biggles held up his blood-stained handkerchief. "If you can go ahead and clean up the glass cuts on his face—"
"Search it is, then," Algy said briskly. His torch bobbed down the hill toward the upside-down car.
Biggles was left alone with a dazed and pale von Stalhein, bundled into Biggles's coat. Von Stalhein was not completely unconscious, but he was still out of it, blinking in the light of Biggles's torch as Biggles cleaned the cuts on his face with a little water from the canteen in the coat pocket.
"You might have other injuries," Biggles told him. "Do you mind if I look?"
He lifted the coat, and von Stalhein turned a little, permitting Biggles a swift examination with firm but careful touches. Nothing seemed to be too bad off, though when Biggles opened von Stalhein's shirt, his lean torso was banded with painful-looking bruises from the seatbelt. His right arm was bruised and swollen around the forearm and wrist, and he sucked in a breath when Biggles manipulated his hand.
"Oh, there you are," Biggles murmured with a slight smile as von Stalhein blinked at him, looking a little more coherent. "Careful, I think this might be sprained or broken. You should have a doctor look at it. Still, I don't think you're badly hurt other than that, and there doesn't seem to be any head injury."
To be sure, he ran his hands through von Stalhein's hair, half expecting a protest by this point. Instead von Stalhein half closed his eyes. Biggles could feel him shivering.
"No, I don't think there's a head injury. You've had a bad shock, that's all." He could tell von Stalhein was responding to his voice, turning his head to track Biggles. His pupils were vastly blown out in the torch's beam.
"No papers," Algy reported, huffing up the hill. "Well, at least there's an actual reason for taking him prisoner after all. He can tell us where they are."
"He's not a prisoner, and we're not in the habit of demanding payment for a rescue. If he wants to tell us of his own free will, he can do so." Von Stalhein was still shivering a little, though he had stilled somewhat under Biggles's hand, which was still cupped around the short-cropped back of his head. "He could use a hot drink. Algy, can you fetch the flask of coffee from the car?"
Algy threw his hands in the air, torch and all, and climbed the embankment back to their vehicle.
"And your spare shirt!" Biggles called after him.
"Don't tell me you're going to change his shirt for him too!" The voice echoed down from above, along with the sound of a slamming car door.
"No, I need something to bind his wrist."
Algy's response was, fortunately, unintelligible.
By the time he came back, von Stalhein was sitting up and looking slightly less dazed. As well as the shirt and flask, Algy turned out to have brought with him a blanket from the boot, which he draped over von Stalhein's shoulders—with no particular gentleness, but not roughly either. Von Stalhein gave him a baffled nod of thanks and huddled into it. He took the flask with his good hand, and sipped from it as Biggles worked on binding his wrist and Algy held the torch.
No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”
"Someone needs to search the wreckage for the papers," Algy said, looking down at Biggles, who was crouched beside von Stalhein. "I'm going to guess you'd rather stand lookout this time."
"I don't mind the search." Biggles held up his blood-stained handkerchief. "If you can go ahead and clean up the glass cuts on his face—"
"Search it is, then," Algy said briskly. His torch bobbed down the hill toward the upside-down car.
Biggles was left alone with a dazed and pale von Stalhein, bundled into Biggles's coat. Von Stalhein was not completely unconscious, but he was still out of it, blinking in the light of Biggles's torch as Biggles cleaned the cuts on his face with a little water from the canteen in the coat pocket.
"You might have other injuries," Biggles told him. "Do you mind if I look?"
He lifted the coat, and von Stalhein turned a little, permitting Biggles a swift examination with firm but careful touches. Nothing seemed to be too bad off, though when Biggles opened von Stalhein's shirt, his lean torso was banded with painful-looking bruises from the seatbelt. His right arm was bruised and swollen around the forearm and wrist, and he sucked in a breath when Biggles manipulated his hand.
"Oh, there you are," Biggles murmured with a slight smile as von Stalhein blinked at him, looking a little more coherent. "Careful, I think this might be sprained or broken. You should have a doctor look at it. Still, I don't think you're badly hurt other than that, and there doesn't seem to be any head injury."
To be sure, he ran his hands through von Stalhein's hair, half expecting a protest by this point. Instead von Stalhein half closed his eyes. Biggles could feel him shivering.
"No, I don't think there's a head injury. You've had a bad shock, that's all." He could tell von Stalhein was responding to his voice, turning his head to track Biggles. His pupils were vastly blown out in the torch's beam.
"No papers," Algy reported, huffing up the hill. "Well, at least there's an actual reason for taking him prisoner after all. He can tell us where they are."
"He's not a prisoner, and we're not in the habit of demanding payment for a rescue. If he wants to tell us of his own free will, he can do so." Von Stalhein was still shivering a little, though he had stilled somewhat under Biggles's hand, which was still cupped around the short-cropped back of his head. "He could use a hot drink. Algy, can you fetch the flask of coffee from the car?"
Algy threw his hands in the air, torch and all, and climbed the embankment back to their vehicle.
"And your spare shirt!" Biggles called after him.
"Don't tell me you're going to change his shirt for him too!" The voice echoed down from above, along with the sound of a slamming car door.
"No, I need something to bind his wrist."
Algy's response was, fortunately, unintelligible.
By the time he came back, von Stalhein was sitting up and looking slightly less dazed. As well as the shirt and flask, Algy turned out to have brought with him a blanket from the boot, which he draped over von Stalhein's shoulders—with no particular gentleness, but not roughly either. Von Stalhein gave him a baffled nod of thanks and huddled into it. He took the flask with his good hand, and sipped from it as Biggles worked on binding his wrist and Algy held the torch.
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(And this fic. Ngggggght.)
♥♥♥
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Biggles: ah yes you go do that, I'm going to bathe von Stalhein's face gently and touch him all over to make sure he's not badly hurt and bind up his wrist in your spare shirt and--
No wonder Algy throws up his hands!
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And poor put-upon Algy!
Biggles: of course I'll search the wreckage so long as you tenderly nurse EvS for me
Algy: you know what, I actually really like crawling all over broken glass
And shocky dazed EvS going passive and calm while Biggles cleans him up and wraps him in coats is very RTMI. And of course Algy supplies a blanket anyway, I love them all <333
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Algy: you know what, I actually really like crawling all over broken glass
Accurate.
And Erich's hindbrain just knows he's safe in Biggles's
armscare; he may be recovered enough to complain soon, but then again he might not be in that much of a hurry.no subject
(Anonymous) 2023-11-03 09:14 pm (UTC)(link)