The Penguin's Mate

Stay Awake

Oswald was at the bar the next day, staring at a glass of whiskey. Mavis had promised to be right back after cleaning out his desk.

There was a thump against the glass door. Mavis stumbled in, his coat ripped. He was bruised and bloody.

Oswald was in the middle of taking a sip when he heard the thump, and his eyes flicked over to the door instinctively when he heard the slam.

The moment he saw Mavis, stumbling in bloodied and bruised, he bolted to his feet, dropping the drink as he rushed to the male.

"Mavis, what- what happened?" he said urgently, wrapping his arms around the detective to support him.

Blood ran from his nose into his teeth. His left cheekbone was a nasty black and blue.

"I--" he choked on a mouthful of blood. "I got jumped  the station. Some rookie officers.”

Rage flared in Oswald as the realization of what had happened to the detective set in, and his hands squeezed the boy's shoulders in a way that was almost painful.

"Those bastards," he snarled, his eyes flicking over Mavis, trying to assess the full extent of the damage.

He lifted Mavis’ shirt. Never again would he see him in a police uniform. His belly was mottled with angry bruises and the faint mark of a boot print.

Oswald's eyes darkened as he saw the damage - the black and blue stains all over the boy's skin, the boot prints.

He felt sick, a deep rage surging through him, and he wanted so badly to find those bastard assholes and tear them apart.

His lips curled in a snarl as he gently touched a finger to Mavis’ skin, eyes narrowing in concern.

"They...those dogs...how bad is it?”

Mavis was vaguely aware of a horrible ache in his chest, and he couldn't take a deep breath. But that was probably just the aftershocks of getting his shit rocked.

A nausea settled in the pit of his stomach, "'m don't feel good.”

Oswald was already panicking a little, noticing the way Mavis was struggling to breathe.

He helped the detective over to a chair, gently lowering him into it and crouching down in front of him, his eyes roaming over the boy's body.

"You're a damn fool," he hissed, though there was no real heat behind the words, "You should've run, idiot.”

"Then they would've followed me here to you..." he protested. His freckled face was tinted green and clammy.

The very idea gave Oswald's stomach an unpleasant twist, and he swallowed heavily.

"Idiot," he muttered, his tone sharp, "You're an idiot"

He hated the way Mavis was so pale.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, his tone sharp and urgent as he moved to press his fingers lightly to Mavis’ chest.

Mavis whimpered and gasped when he touched his tender chest. He coughed, blood in his teeth.

Oswald swore under his breath, his fingers running over the bruised skin. He lifted Mavis’ shirt, trying to assess the damage - he was no doctor, but he'd seen enough wounds in his lifetime to guess at the possibility of broken ribs.

"I need to get your shirt off," he stated, his fingers beginning to clumsily undo the buttons.

Mavis smirked a little, wincing from his busted lip. His chest twitched with a faint muscle spasm.

When Oswald finally managed to get the shirt off, he cursed again, taking a good look at the injury.

His eyes darkened, taking in the colors and the size of the bruise - it was obvious Mavis was in pain, and the thought that those bastard officers had hurt him like this was almost enough to make Oswald want to tear the entire GCPD apart.

He reached out, gently touching the dark bruise.

"Looks like a couple of broken ribs," he said tersely.

Mavis was a stubborn bitch, Oswald's idiotic boyfriend, and his insistence on taking a beating for him was enough to make Oswald want to strangle him.

"You didn't have to do that, you...you *
stupid boy," he said, letting his fingers trace the outline of the bruise.

Mavis wheezed, looking like he was having a vertigo spell despite being sat down.

"H... hospital?" He breathed.

The way Mavis was sitting there, pale and shaky, made Oswald's stomach twist in uneasy fear. He didn't like the way the man was breathing, or the way he seemed almost disoriented.

He swallowed, nodding jerkily.

"Yeah, hospital. Come on, just- just let me help you, okay? And stay awake, you idiot.”

Oswald couldn't drive, so Butch drove them to the hospital. As they pulled into the parking lot, Mavis’ eyes started to roll back into his head.

Oswald was in a constant state of panic, his heart lodged in his throat the entire time.

He noticed how Mavis was fading, the way his head started rolling loosely, and the sight made his own heartbeat speed up.

"Hey!" His hand shot out, grabbing his chin and forcing the man to look at him. "No. You stay awake, understand? You don't pass out, damn it.”

Mavis slumped into Oswald, out cold. Blood dribbled from his lips and speckled his pant legs.

Butch flagged down a nurse, who ran inside for a stretcher.

When Mavis lost consciousness, Oswald felt a sudden rush of panicked panic, his mind screaming at him that this wasn't good, that he was going to be losing the boy-

No. No, not possible.

The moment the stretcher came, Oswald was grabbing Mavis immediately and helping the nurses lay him on it, his heart hammering hard in his chest.

Oswald was left to pace in the waiting room, hobbling on his cane until his leg forced him to sit down. He'd scared Butch off with his temper hours ago.

Mavis was in surgery, getting his ribs plated.