Archive of Our Own ^beta

Flamefrags' base was quiet except for the crackle of torches and their ragged breathing. The battle from earlier still rang in both their ears, even if most of the team was full of players fighting like bots, they still packed a punch—they agreed on a day to prepare, then they were coming with everything they had. A day before they very calmly negotiated with LettuceK.

Wemmbu stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against the deep gash on his side, the other gripping his mace like he wasn't sure whether he still needed it. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor.

"You going to come in or just bleed all over my entrance, bro?" Flamefrags called from where he'd collapsed into a chair, his own injuries screaming for attention.

"Still deciding if this is a trap." But Wemmbu took a step inside anyway, his eyes scanning the base's interior—the chests, the brewing stands, the weapon racks. "Your place gives a Very big 'brooding loner' aesthetic."

"Says the guy who… bro wait, do you even have a base anymore?” 

“Nope.”

”Should have expected that answer. You can’t say anything about my base. You don’t even have one, bro.”

Wemmbu took another step, wincing. "You still haven’t covered up Boosfer’s room? Can I make a room here too?” 

Flamefrags looked at the bright green and white room to his left and scowled. "You are the last person I want to make a room in my base, and Bro, I haven’t had time to cover Boosfer’s room."

"Sure." Wemmbu gestured at himself with his free hand, blood still seeping between his fingers. "Are we doing this or should I just continue bleeding out while you defend your interior decorating choices?"

"Bro, Sit.” Flamefrags pointed at the second chair. "We both look like shit and Law made it pretty clear—they want us both gone. We can kill each other after we deal with LettuceK and them."

Wemmbu moved slowly to the chair and lowered himself down with a pained grunt. "Never thought I'd see the inside of your base without you attacking me constantly."

"Never thought I'd invite you in. Really regretting it now." Flamefrags tried to stand and immediately sat back down, his vision swimming. "Okay. We need to fix each other up or neither of us is making it to the negotiation part."

"You look like you got run over by a herd of ravagers."

"Bro, You're one to talk. You're literally leaving a blood trail across my floor."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Wemmbu let out a short, painful laugh. "This is insane."

"Completely. Medical supplies are in the chest behind you. Grab them, bro."

Wemmbu twisted to look at the chest and immediately regretted it, his hand clutching his side. "You want me, the guy with the possibly fatal stab wound, to get up and get the medical supplies?"

"Bro, Well I'm not doing it. I can't feel my left leg."

"That's probably bad."

"You think?"

Wemmbu grumbled but pushed himself up and limped to the chest, pulling out bandages, healing potions, antiseptic, needles and thread, and various other supplies. He brought them back and dumped them on the table between their chairs with more force than necessary. "There. Happy?"

"Delighted. You're up first. That side wound looks bad."

"Oh, this?" Wemmbu gestured at his bleeding side. "This is just a scratch."

"Bro, That 'scratch' is six inches long and I can see your ribs."

"I've had worse."

"When?"

"That time you were in the mafia and took Egg hostage. Haven’t forgotten that, by the way."

"You survived that, bro."

"Barely." Wemmbu started to peel off his torn, blood-soaked shirt and hissed in pain. "A little help here?"

Flamefrags leaned forward, biting back his own pain, and helped ease the fabric away from the wound. The gash ran along Wemmbu's left side, deep and angry. Around it, his ribs were already turning purple and black.

"Okay, that's actually pretty bad," Flamefrags admitted.

"Wow, thanks for the professional medical opinion, Dr. Obvious."

"You want my help or not, bro?”

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." Flamefrags grabbed a healing potion. "Drink half of this. And before you argue, yes, half. We need to conserve them."

Wemmbu took the potion. "I wasn't going to argue."

"Bro, yes you were. You argue about everything."

"I do not."

"You're literally arguing about arguing right now."

Wemmbu paused, potion halfway to his lips. "...Shut up." He drank half the potion and some color returned to his face. "Happy now?"

"Yes. This next part's going to hurt though." Flamefrags grabbed the antiseptic and a clean cloth.

"Everything already hurts. Just—" Wemmbu's words cut off in a sharp hiss as Flamefrags pressed the cloth against the wound. His hands gripped the chair arms hard enough that his knuckles went white. "Holy—that burns!"

"Yeah, antiseptic tends to do that."

"You could've warned me better!"

"I literally just warned you!"

"A better warning! Like 'this is going to feel like meeting PrinceZam again' or 'prepare to meet your ancestors' or—" Another hiss of pain. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"If I was trying to kill you, I'd just let you bleed out. Hold still."

Wemmbu held still, but kept talking through gritted teeth. "Your bedside manner is terrible."

"You want gentle? Go find a cleric."

"Can't. Too busy bleeding in your base."

Flamefrags cleaned the wound methodically, ignoring Wemmbu's increasingly creative insults. (Seriously, How could this purple blob come up with that level of insults?)

After a hot minute, Flame sat back, examining the clean wound. "Okay, bro, I have to be honest, this needs stitches. Like, a lot of stitches."

Wemmbu looked down at his side and paled slightly. "How many is a lot?"

"I don't know, I'm not a tailor. Maybe fifteen? Twenty?"

"Twenty stitches?!"

"You want it to heal or not?" Flamefrags threaded a needle. "This is really going to hurt. You want something to bite down on?"

Will it help?"

"Probably not, but it'll stop you from biting your tongue off."

Wemmbu grabbed a stray part from his belt holding his inventory. "You're really selling this."

"I'm honest. There's a difference." Flamefrags positioned the needle. "Ready?"

Wemmbu put the leather between his teeth and nodded, his jaw already tense.

The first stitch made Wemmbu jerk in his seat. The second made him grip the chair hard enough that Flamefrags worried he might break it. By the fifth, sweat was pouring down Wemmbu's face.

"You're doing great bro," Flamefrags said, focusing on keeping his stitches even.

Wemmbu made a muffled noise around the leather that sounded distinctly sarcastic.

"Okay, you're not doing great. You're sitting there sweating and cursing at me telepathically. But the stitches look good."

Another muffled noise, angrier this time.

"Bro, Was that a threat? That sounded like a threat."

Wemmbu spat out the leather. "Are you almost done?"

"About halfway."

"Halfway?! How is that only halfway?"

"Because it's a giant gash in your side, Wemmbu. What did you expect?"

"I expected—ow! Warn me before you—"

"Warned you at the start, bro."

Wemmbu shoved the leather back between his teeth, glaring daggers at Flamefrags, who just kept stitching calmly. After what felt like an eternity, he finally tied off the last knot.

"Done," Flamefrags announced. "And before you ask, yes, they're good stitches. I'm not a professional but I know what I'm doing."

Wemmbu spat out the leather again, slumping back in his chair. "That was... horrible."

"Beauty is pain."

"That's not beauty, that's torture."

"Tomato, tomahto." Flamefrags grabbed bandages and started wrapping them around Wemmbu's torso. "Try not to twist too much or you'll pull the stitches, bro."

"Try not to twist. During a war with the Law. Great advice."

"You asked for my help."

"I'm starting to regret that decision."

Flamefrags pulled the bandages tight and Wemmbu yelped. "Too tight!"

"It needs to be tight for support."

"It needs to not cut off my circulation!"

"You're fine. Stop being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic, I'm being realistic about my chances of surviving the next day with you as my medic."

Flamefrags tied off the bandage with more force than strictly necessary. "There. All done. You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh, am I supposed to thank you for stabbing me repeatedly with a needle?"

"I was stitching a wound that you got because you can't dodge properly."

"I can dodge fine! That axe came out of nowhere!"

"It came from a chungus. They're pretty noticeable."

Wemmbu opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Then opened it again. "You know what? I'm not having this conversation. Your turn. Get on the table."

"Bossy."

"Bleeding. Move."

Flamefrags pushed himself up with a groan and made his way to the table, each step a new adventure in pain. Wemmbu followed, moving stiffly, and helped him up onto the table.

"Thanks bro," Flamefrags muttered.

"Don't mention it. Seriously. Don't. I have a reputation to maintain." Wemmbu looked him over and whistled low. "Okay, you weren't kidding about looking like shit."

"Your confidence in my survival is inspiring."

"Just being honest." Wemmbu examined the cut on Flamefrags' thigh. "Did I do this?"

"Yeah. Your sword caught me when I dodged. Its not deep. You really suck at sword fighting, bro."

"Should've dodged better."

"Should've aimed worse."

Wemmbu snorted and grabbed the antiseptic. "This is going to—"

"Hurt, I know. I just did this to you, remember?"

"Just making sure you know what's coming." Wemmbu pressed the cloth to the wound and Flamefrags inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Oh, what's wrong? I thought you knew it was coming?"

"Knowing and experiencing are two different things."

"Aw, is the big tough fighter being a baby about a little antiseptic?"

"Bro, Are you seriously mocking me right now?"

"Oh, I'm very seriously mocking you right now." Wemmbu kept cleaning the wound, his expression focused but his tone teasing. "You gave me so much grief about my dramatic reactions and now look at you."

"I'm not being dramatic."

"You're literally pouting."

"I am not pouting!"

"You're pouting. Your lip is doing the thing."

Flamefrags tried to school his expression into something more neutral. "Better?"

"Now you look constipated."

"Bro, I hate you so much right now."

"Feeling's mutual. Okay, this needs stitches too." Wemmbu grabbed the needle and thread. "Try not to pass out on me."

"I'm not going to pass out."

"Sure. Just like you weren't pouting."

The needle pierced his skin and Flamefrags gripped the edge of the table. "You're enjoying this too much."

"Maybe a little," Wemmbu admitted, working steadily. "Payback for all those times you've beaten me in fights."

"That's petty."

"Extremely petty. But fair." Another stitch. "So, question. When you insulted me more than you needed to after you took my mace—was that personal or tactical?"

"Bro, Does it matter?"

"Kind of. I need to know if I should feel insulted or impressed."

"Both. It was both."

Wemmbu laughed, which made his hands shake slightly, which made the stitch pull weird, which made Flamefrags yelp. "Sorry, sorry. You made me laugh."

"How is this my fault, bro?!"

"You're funny when you're in pain. Who knew?”

"I'm going to kill you."

"Not until after this situation we are in with the Law. We have an agreement." Wemmbu kept stitching, more carefully now. "Besides, you need me. Admit it."

"I need you like I need a hole in the head."

"Funny, considering you probably had a concussion at least once from my maces."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

Flamefrags glared at him but couldn't quite hide the twitch of his lips. "You're terrible at this."

"At stitching? I think I'm doing pretty well."

"Bro, At the comforting wounded ally thing."

"Oh that. Yeah, I'm awful at that." Wemmbu tied off another stitch. "But I'm keeping you conscious and distracted, so I'd say I'm doing my job."

That was... actually fair. Flamefrags hadn't even noticed how many stitches Wemmbu had done while they were bickering. "Almost done?"

"Almost. Just a few more." Wemmbu's hands moved steadily, his earlier teasing replaced by concentration. "There. Done. Not bad, if I do say so myself."

He wrapped the wound in clean bandages, then moved to examine Flamefrags' shoulder where the puncture wound was still bleeding. "This one's deep. Really deep. When did I even land this hit?"

"When you got that lucky shot in."

"Lucky? That was pure skill."

"Accidentally hitting me with your mace while targeting a chungus really isn’t a skill, dawg."

“Yes it is!”

"I dont remember us restarting our 1V1 that fight. It was luck."

"It was opportunistic adaptation to changing circumstances."

"Bro, That's just luck with extra words."

Wemmbu scowled and started cleaning the puncture wound with more force than necessary. Flamefrags winced.

"Bro, Gentle!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is the big strong warrior too delicate for proper wound cleaning?"

"There's proper cleaning and then there's whatever you're doing."

"I'm being thorough."

"You're being vindictive."

"Can't I be both?" But Wemmbu eased up slightly, his movements gentler as he packed the wound with treated cloth. "This needs special attention. If it gets infected, you're screwed."

"Your encouraging words are really helping."

"I'm dead serious. This is deep and it's in a bad spot. You need to change this dressing every few hours and watch for signs of infection."

The concern in Wemmbu's voice made Flamefrags pause. "Bro, you actually worried about me?"

"I'm worried about having to fight Law alone when you die from an infected stab wound, yes."

"That's not a no."

"Don't let it go to your head." Wemmbu wrapped the shoulder carefully, his hands sure and steady. "Just... be careful with this one, okay?"

"Okay."

They were quiet for a moment, the banter falling away as Wemmbu finished securing the bandage. Then he moved to the burns covering Flamefrags' chest and arms.

"These are pretty bad," Wemmbu said, grabbing a salve. "Which ones did I cause?"

Flamefrags pointed to the worst burn on his forearm. "That one. A bit of your stupid nuke earlier caught me square while I was on a 3V1."

"Huh." Wemmbu started spreading the salve, surprisingly gentle. "Good one."

"Good one? You burned half my arm off!"

"I said good, not great. A great throw would've hit your face and blown your head off."

"You're the worst."

"And yet here I am, carefully treating your wounds like a good ally." Wemmbu worked the salve into each burn, his touch light. "You know, under different circumstances, this might almost be nice."

"Nice, bro? Bro, You've stitched me up, mocked my pain tolerance, and reminded me of all the times you've hit me. How is any of this nice?”

“It’s just different. Usually when we see each other, we're actively trying to kill one another. This is like a break from that."

Flamefrags considered this. "A break where we're both bleeding and in pain."

"Still a break." Wemmbu started wrapping bandages around the burns. "Plus, I'm learning all your weak spots for our rematch."

"You think I'm not doing the same thing?"

"Oh, I'm counting on it. Makes the next fight more interesting." Wemmbu stepped back to admire his bandaging work. "There. You're all patched up. Try not to undo all my hard work by doing something stupid."

"Like what, bro?"

"Like anything you'd normally do."

Flamefrags slid off the table, testing his weight on his injured leg. It held, barely. "I need to check your ribs more carefully. If any are fully broken, we need to know."

"My ribs are fine."

"You can barely breathe without wincing."

"That's just my natural reaction to being in your presence."

"Shirt off. Now."

Wemmbu sighed dramatically but moved closer, letting Flamefrags carefully press against his ribcage. Each touch made Wemmbu tense, his breath catching.

"Does this hurt?" Flamefrags pressed on a particularly dark bruise.

"No, I always make that face. It's my thinking face."

"This is serious."

"I'm seriously fine."

Flamefrags pressed a little harder and Wemmbu yelped. "Okay! Okay, it hurts!”

"You've got at least two cracked ribs, maybe three, bro. You're lucky none are fully broken."

"Oh good, lucky. That's exactly how I'd describe this situation."

"Would you rather I say unlucky, bro?"

"I'd rather you say I'm perfectly healthy and ready to fight."

"Well, I'd rather have a functional partner for this war, but we can't all get what we want." Flamefrags finished his examination. "The bandages should provide enough support, but you need to be careful."

"Careful. Right. I'll just politely ask LettuceK to avoid my left side when any potential attacks."

"I'm sure they'll be very accommodating."

They looked at each other for a moment, both battered and bandaged, and then Wemmbu started laughing. He immediately regretted it, clutching his ribs with a pained wheeze.

"Don't—make me—laugh," he gasped out.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Your face—" Wemmbu wheezed again, half-laughing, half-groaning in pain. “Is so stupid."

The whole situation was completely absurd. But Flamefrags found himself laughing too, which hurt his own injuries, which made him laugh harder at the ridiculousness of it all.

"We're both bots, bro," Flamefrags managed.

"Speak for yourself. I'm a genius.” But Wemmbu was grinning through the pain. "Okay, we need to stop. I can't laugh anymore. My ribs can't take it."

They both took a moment to catch their breath, wincing at their various injuries.

"We should eat something," Wemmbu said finally. "I'm starving and blood loss makes everything worse."

"I've got stew. It's probably cold by now but it's edible. Probably should save the golden apples and carrots for fights.”

"Probably cold but edible. You really know how to sell a meal."

They moved to the kitchen area, Flamefrags ladled out two bowls and they sat across from each other.

Wemmbu took a bite and his eyebrows went up. "This is actually good."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I just figured you lived on like... raw meat and pure spite."

"That's only on weekdays."

Wemmbu snorted into his stew, then winced at the movement. "Okay, new rule. No jokes while I'm eating. My ribs can't handle it."

"That's going to be hard. I'm naturally hilarious, bro."

"You're naturally something, but I wouldn't call it hilarious."

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Wemmbu spoke again. "Your base really is nice though. I wasn't just being sarcastic earlier."

"The part about the 'brooding loner aesthetic' wasn't sarcastic?"

"Okay, that part was. But seriously, you've got good defenses, lots of supplies, strategic positioning. It's impressive."

"Thanks. Your non existent base is... tactical."

Wemmbu threw a piece of bread at him. Flamefrags caught it and took a bite.

"Hey! That was my bread!"

"Payment for the medical services."

"You're the worst."

"Bro, You've mentioned that several times now."

"Because it keeps being true!"

They finished eating and Wemmbu helped clean up, which mostly involved arguing about the proper way to wash a bowl.

"You're not getting all the stew off," Wemmbu complained.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. There's still food on it."

"Then you wash it!"

"I am washing it! I'm doing your dishes in your kitchen and you're criticizing my technique!"

"Because your technique is wrong!"

"There's no wrong way to wash a bowl!"

"You're literally proving yourself wrong right now!"

They bickered their way through the dishes, which was somehow more disturbing than the injuries. When everything was clean—or clean enough to satisfy both of them after fifteen minutes of debate—they moved back to the medical area.

"We should change those bandages before we start planning," Wemmbu said, examining his side. "Some of mine are already soaking through."

"Yeah, mine too." Flamefrags started unwrapping Wemmbu's torso bandages. "You know, this is becoming almost routine."

"Too routine. After this war, I'm never letting you touch me again."

"The feeling is extremely mutual."

But Flamefrags was careful as he checked the stitches, cleaning around them gently before rewrapping everything fresh and tight. Wemmbu returned the favor, his hands steady as he checked Flamefrags' leg and shoulder, repacking the puncture wound with fresh treated cloth.

"You're actually pretty good at this," Flamefrags admitted.

"Of course I am. I'm good at everything."

"Except dodging my sword.”

“When has that ever happened?”

"It was today."

"And I'll never live it down, apparently." Wemmbu secured the last bandage. "There. You're all set. Try not to bleed through these before bedtime."

"No promises. We still need to go over strategy."

”Just win, bro.”