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Mike is bleeding. Chuck tells himself it’s a good thing, it means he’s still alive even if he’s way too heavy and unmoving in Chuck’s arms, blood streaked down his face from a gash on his forehead. Too much, head wounds always bleed so much and he knows that but it’s so much blood—
With all the rubble on the ground, the footing is treacherous, but Chuck goes as fast as he can anyway, catches his balance again and again and keeps his feet, because if he falls and makes noise it’ll attract the Kanebots. He’s got to get out of sight and hide Mike the way Mike never willingly would if he was conscious, he’d be too busy fighting instead of lying slack in Chuck’s hold, silent and way too still and leaving everything up to Chuck, who is not the hero here! He’s not the guy who should be in charge of saving anyone, especially Mike!
He doesn’t have a choice. Chuck is the only way Mike might make it out of this. He has to manage somehow.
He gets the two of them tucked into a cramped little space under a half-collapsed wall, a dark corner hidden from most angles by debris, which will hopefully be enough to fool the bots’ infrared. Mike is ungainly like this, but it only takes a little wrestling before he’s folded into Chuck’s lap and held close while Chuck checks his breathing again. The rise and fall of his chest is faint but steady, his t-shirt damp with sweat under Chuck’s hand, and his shallow breaths sound smooth when Chuck puts his ear by Mike’s mouth, no hint of a catch or wet rattle. God he’s bled a lot, though.
Chuck bites his lip and pokes around the head wound as carefully as he can, swallowing down nausea at the wet warmth on his fingertips, just… checking that Mike’s forehead isn’t dented in or anything. As far as he can tell, the bone is intact, which means the only thing he can do is try to stop the bleeding.
His hands are shaking. The stink of his own fear-sweat is rank in his nose. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and he keeps trying to breathe quieter so the bots won’t hear him and come find them and—
He wishes Jacob was here. He wishes the ultraGolem hadn’t slammed Mutt around like that, he wishes Mike hadn’t hit his head, he wishes they’d never left Deluxe.
He rips a piece off the bottom of Mike’s t-shirt and presses it against Mike’s wound with a wince, going still when Mike moans faintly.
“Mikey?” he whispers.
No response. No movement.
Chuck swallows again and keeps the cloth held firmly in place as it rapidly soaks through, keeping pressure on it even though that seems maybe potentially dangerous for a head wound. He doesn’t know what else to do. He’s used to fear, the gut-clenching drop of the stomach when Mike does something insane, except no matter what kind of trouble he gets Chuck into, Mike always pulls him out of it again, and this is different. This is new, the way his middle has hollowed out into an icy pit. Mike isn’t waking up. He’s the one who always knows what to do, how to deal with an impossible situation. Now he’s hurt, and Chuck’s the only one here to help him, to save them both, and he doesn’t know how.
Outside their pathetic scrap of shelter, there’s a familiar electronic hum, barely audible but growing louder as Kanebots zip through the air, coming closer.
Chuck holds on to Mike, breathing as quietly as he can, and tries to keep both of them alive.