Hopelessly: Captain Medvedev OneShots

Let You Go - (Y/N) x Ivan :!!ANGST!!:

❌ TRIGGER WARNING ❌
DEATH
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солнышко is pronounced: "solnyshko" (sol- NEESH- koh) look up its meaning if you're curious. It isn't bad, I just don't want to spoil it.
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"Bring It to Me.” 

The hair on my neck prickled. 

‘It...’ 

“Agent (Y/N), please respond, over,” my earpiece clicked off again—only leaving behind the mild static that bubbled almost inaudibly. I glanced back down at what remained of them.  

Their body lay on the gravel, not mangled like a child’s toy, yet it was clear the government was done with them as a vessel. Boils the size of golf balls speckled their arms and body, and bulged through their medical robe behind puddles and stains of pus and blood. Their eyes were cloudy and glazed yet wide and wild—never to see the light of day again—but they were moving rapidly as if to search for something; anything. What was once their lovely strands of hair amounted to nothing but tufts on their scalp, poorly shaven, and they trembled like a cold child. The sight was wrenching: a once skilled and... somewhat beloved coworker turned test subject turned helpless.  

“Agent Nixati coming in, I have eyes on Agent (Y/N), it’s not good... not good at all... over.” I  jammed the radio back into my halter and knelt down next to them. I didn’t expect much of an answer from them in the time it would take for assistance to arrive aside from the slowly fading desperation in their eyes.  

“Help is coming soon. Feel free t-” 

“Nix? Is that you?” They sprawled their body against the gravel, flinching and whimpering at the sheer amount of pain it took to do the simple task, and then reached out with both hands to find me. I ripped off my overcoat and swung it over them to at least warm them a little. They didn’t have much time left. I placed my hand left hand in theirs, and they relaxed a little. 

“Feel free to speak if you think you can but just don’t move. We will need as much information from you as possible, soldier.” Their hand was so feeble in mine, like the temperature and sensitivity of a snowflake, and the labor in their breathing wrenched tears from my eyes. 

“Where is the captain?” They coughed, and blood spattered across my breastplate. It continued to trickle from their lips when they spoke, “Where is Captain Medvedev?”  

“The captain is on his way, (Y/N), but please sit still. Your body cannot sustain itself much longer if you keep mo-” 

“I request to see the captain at once,” They jostled, batting away my hand and the makeshift blanket I so endured the cold for them to have. I may have been worried, but my patience was dwindling.  

“The captain is on his way, soldier, now stay in your place... please.”  

I glanced back down at my hand, now voluntarily soaked from the sweat and mucus slithering off of (Y/N) and then at my breastplate, showered with speckles of my friend’s blood. I wish the last moments with my friend weren’t as disgusting as this, but in a way, moments like these especially, are easily yet unfortunately remembered. 

Piercing lights from up ahead slowly became brighter, accompanied by the low rumble of jeep engines and crackling of the gravel underneath them. Sirens shrieked through the night air, and even louder voices called over the commotion asking for hands to be lifted, weapons to be dropped, names to be shared. 

“Agent 3204, Nixati Novikov, Sixth Unit under Captain Ivan Medvedev’s command.” I flinched at the blare of the lights with my hands raised, then looked back down at (Y/N) who was clearly losing minutes, “And this is Agent 6709, (Y/N) Zakharov. Also in the Sixth Unit under Captain Ivan Medvedev’s command.”