Grandeur Defector

LX

The second Truffles' eyes rolled into the back of his head and he spasmed once, Flippy knew this wouldn't be the same type of wound.
But oh god.
Oh good god gravy, did it hurt to watch.
Everything was going so wrong and everything was falling apart and it was all going to shit. It felt like the heavens stopped caring and Hell stopped time just to make the hurt last eons longer than it needed to. He couldn't be overreacting, could he? No, not likely; even the alter who shared the system was panicking behind the bars he sat, alone in his head and caged.
Truffles wasn't waking up. He looked pitifully small, tinier than he ever had seemed before as he lay on the grass in his own sad pool of blood. His head was in his hands, fur soft and ruffled against his own green fur. That brain of his that he loved so much wasn't buzzing with usual perplexing thoughts, head always seeming so full with questions far out of his reach. Instead, it was quiet as his body lay wounded dangerously, brown eyes not peeping.
It's all WRONG.
It was all wrong, and he hated it.
He rubbed his thumb against his partner's cheek, feeling his bony jawline beneath paper-thin skin that moved to the touch; it elicited no reaction as it normally would've, silently still among the blades of grass that swayed in the breeze when it shouldn't be.

Cass tapped Truffles' shoulder.
"Truffles?"

No response.

She turned, eyes nervously redirecting focus back to the bullet still lodged in his low abdomen. He couldn't help but wonder if it was sudden mental shock that knocked his partner unconscious so violently.
He didn't expect that to happen, and it was written all over his face. He has NEVER made a noise so pained, the only time he ever has was when that stupid fucking abusive piece of shit hurt him.

Flippy swallowed back the desire to sob. How did it go so wrong so quickly? How did everything shut down on a turn of a dime? How could HE let it? This was his fault, he was sure of it.
Why was this so different from the other wounds? Truffles had taken a bullet to the stomach; what was special about this?
The foreign tiger that had been talking to Truffles eyed him, eyes coldly blue and piercing... too much like The General's eye before it wasn't in its socket by his own bloody hands. He spoke in a tongue not recognizable to him, falling upon deaf ears to all those close.
"Mạt Trăng, hãy cho chúng tôi sức mạnh."

I'm sorry, I don't understand. I don't understand Tigernamese yet, I don't even know what the fuck is happening right now!

He said 'Moon, give us strength.' I think.

Flippy sighed hearing Fliqpy's voice in his mind translating, unsure if any of the words were true. It didn't matter, did it? Their boyfriend was on death's door from a bullet to the abdomen, and it was all over. Wasn't it? Surely it was.
Fliqpy, you know about internals more than I do. Why isn't he waking up?

You askin' ME for help? Huh...Intestine shots ain't an easy blow. It's soft tissue n' easy to blow through. Bullets only stop at somethin' hard. It's not rocket science, stupid.

Do you think... it ripped into multiple organs? It couldn't have, right?

I don't fuckin' know, but he looks pale as hell. So probably.

That part was true: the blues in the royal's fur looked duller than usual, blood loss contributing to the paleness in his usual blue hue.
I feel so helpless right now! I can't do a damn thing even as a sergeant rank.

Not surprised.

Shut up, would you? You're nothing but a nuisance, and I hope you know that!

Flippy shook out his fur and ignored the insult that followed, trying to keep himself grounded in the moment as it was. Sergeant Warren had a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, eyes darting to and fro from the blue tigers to Truffles.