madness combat oneshots and headcanons

Hank x Reader - Nightmares

spits this out on your doorstep like a cat bringing its owner a dead rat as a gift.

not requested by anyone, just wanted to write for madness combat again. and what better place to write on other than this dead book!

enjoy.

————

The wind howls outside, nature's screams echoing within the dark, empty hallways of the base. Darkness engulfs the building's interior, not a single light source making its way past the entrance of the concrete walls. Iron doors are locked shut, the grunts inside already sound asleep, except for one.

Hank J. Wimbleton.

He lays awake on the cold, hard concrete floor as he fidgets with the scars on his calloused hands, cracked and chipped fingernails going over the bumps and indents caused by several years worth of endless battles. His goggles lie frozen on the space beside him, still managing to emit a slight glow even when in near-complete darkness.

Moonlight just barely manages to get in through the slit window at the top of the wall, acting like a sort of nightlight for both Hank and his partner.

God, his partner. The best thing that's happened to him in all of his years after he gained consciousness. The light in his life, the grin to his sneer, the vulture to his carcass. The knife to his A.A.H.W. agent, the bullet to his gun. You get the point.

You've been fighting side-by-side for God knows how long, and he's glad to have never turned down your offer to be his sidekick. He's not sure what he'd do if you never entered his life.

Turning his head, he glances up at your face from your place on his mattress. Your hair covers most of your face as you sleep soundly, clutching onto the thin piece of fabric as you try to bring more warmth into your body. Your eyebrows furrow minutely as you shuffle in place, muttering a few words before settling back down again.

Hank smiles.

——

You sneer.

"You are not Hank! You're just some low-life copy of him!" You yell, firing several rounds at the shadowy figure who's taken the form of your lover. "You can't even fight like him!" Switching weapons last-minute, you take a swing at the demon with a hidden knife in your sleeve, your attempt unsuccessful.

The creature snickers, its mangled maw hanging open like that one time Hank tried to talk after getting his jaw replaced. "That's because you can't defeat him. You asked to be his sidekick because you're too weak to go against him. You know this." It laughs, deranged. Its voice is painfully distorted from what you're used to, and you're not sure if this thing is trying to imitate Hank anymore.

You snarl, frantically reloading as you dodge its half-assed attacks. Instead of Hank's usual clean and swift run, this amalgamation stumbles and trips over its own feet, its hands outstretched as it tries to grab you.

You move out of the way, the action surprisingly easy for a creature trying to impersonate the deadliest killer in Nevada. Scoffing, you press the barrel of your gun against the back of its head as it lies on the ground on its front, completely motionless.

Blood begins pooling from behind its goggles, spilling down its face as it turns to look up at you. As it turns to face the sky, you realize that it's bleeding from more than just its eyes. The crimson liquid spills from its mouth and ears, as one of its hands reaches up to grab your ankle, only for you to jump away, watching the scene from afar.

Its nails dig into the ground, a snarl ripping from deep in its throat. The sound gurgles and bubbles its way from its mouth as it turns over on its stomach again, crawling its way over to where you stand.