The Break (Kid x Reader x Killer)

The Break

There had only been two moments in your entire career as a pirate where you didn't live up to your "Slippery" epithet. The first time was when Eustass Kid had bested you in combat. Rather than killing you, he offered you a place on his crew, which you had accepted–partially in the hopes of becoming stronger, and maybe also because you kind of found him incredibly attractive. That was three years ago.

The second time was right now. The enemy's weapons consist of giant, metal crab claws, one of which snaps shut around your forearm with the force of an industrial machine before you can shave away. You're pretty sure the whole battlefield heard the snap. A few things run through your brain in quick succession:

One–that's going to hurt really, really badly in a second. You only have a short amount of time to counterattack.

Two–this was karma for that conversation in the mess room a few weeks ago, where you taunted the others over your having never broken a bone.

"I grew up on a dairy farm. My bones are like iron. Don't compare it to the shortbread you all have for a skeleton."

"You just haven't battled enough, Slip."

"Wrong! It's because no one can catch me. They call me 'Slippery Y/n' because I'm too fast."

"Yeah, yeah. But not fast enough, since you're with us now!"

"Fuck off!"

Not fast enough indeed. But at least, now, you're within striking range of the enemy. He doesn't block in time; your scimitar opens his throat like a cut purse and sends him to his knees, gurgling. Your arm is released and you collapse on the ground, but before you can get back up, the pain hits with an intensity that immediately rips an agonized scream from deep in your lungs.

It's like your arm's been doused in gasoline and set on fire. Burning and sharp, sharp, sharp, so overwhelming you're nauseous. You make the mistake of looking at your arm, and the flash of white sticking through the skin nearly makes you vomit on the spot. Seeing it for what it is somehow makes the pain worse, leaving you breathlessly curling over yourself on instinct, unable to move. Somewhere next to you the body of your enemy thuds onto the ground, dead.

The battle against the opposing crew is almost over. Though it's not much longer before the last enemy is slain and someone rushes to your side, it feels like an eternity.

"Slip, are you okay?" You hear Hip's voice before you, high-pitched with concern. It drops once she notices your injury. "Are you–oh. Oh, fuck. Um, guys! Hey, you guys! Slip is really hurt!"

Footsteps, more voices. One by one, crewmates converge around you.

"Oh, ew."

"Oh, shit, Slip!"

"Slip!"

"Get out of the way!"

That last one would be Kid. You look up in time to see him push past a crewmate, face taught in what seems like anger but you've since learned to recognize is worry. Most of his deeper emotions are like that, sitting in the shadow of enmity but easily discernible if you knew him well enough.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asks, unable to assess your full state with you hunched over. The gruesomeness of your injury doesn't seem to bother him. You shake your head, and relief softens his expression. "Okay. I know it hurts, but you're gonna live."

"I can't get up," you gasp, breath coming out short.

"Then I'll carry you to the ship. Doctor's on standby." Kid crouches down next to you, flesh hand resting on your good shoulder. "It's gonna hurt. Sorry in advance, Y/n."