Chapter Text
It wasn’t the blow to the back that sucked so much as the instinct to throw her arms out in a weak attempt to catch herself.
If she had fallen on her chest instead of her hands, she would have walked away with the wind knocked out of her. Maybe she might have scraped her chin or bitten her tongue. Heck, she would have been open to bruising the hell out of her tits, since even that option was better than the one Momo chose.
Half a second after getting sucker punched in the spine, she hit the ground hands-first at just the right angle for the worst possible outcome. White flashed in her vision. The sensation of breaking was more felt than heard. Right wrist. Left hand.
Her psychic hand constructs shattered to ghostly pieces around her the moment her concentration was shot. She wasn’t proud of the scream that came out of her, but it did the job of alerting the others to her predicament.
“Momo-chan!” Okarun was there in a flash, reaching for her, red eyes flame-bright. As he clued into the degree of her injury, the flames in his eyes flared brighter. He locked onto Momo’s attacker, standing like an idiot above her, gloating over his sucker punch.
With pain radiating up both arms, Momo took grim satisfaction in watching Okarun’s monstrous yokai form turn on the alien. Karma was a real bitch, especially when you went around sucker punching girls. She almost felt sorry for the dickhead alien. Almost. The guy didn’t know what hit him when Okarun slammed into the troll-esque alien with enough force to throw the creature across the parking lot.
Okarun paused before launching his next attack, seeking in a glance the assurance that Momo was not actively dying. She knew too well that if he thought she was truly hurt, he’d snatch her and run from the fight. And wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Get knocked out in one hit like some lame-ass glass cannon and then be immediately dragged away kicking and screaming without the opportunity for revenge? Hell no. As much as Okarun’s open concern gave her the warm fuzzies, Momo was out for blood.
“Kick his ass!” she screamed.
That frightening mask of his seemed to grin in the split second before he took off after his prey. The alien had tried to make an escape, though hadn’t managed to get that far. Okarun had doled out some serious damage with his one hit, and Aira had the thing trapped in her hair. In the blink of an eye, Okarun was there again, piledriving his heels into the alien’s face at full speed. There was a crunch; green blood exploded from the alien’s nose.
Was the roar Momo heard coming from Okarun, or simply her pulse rushing in her ears? Yokai power flared against her senses – twisting like flames yet cool to the psychic touch, enough power to make her skin tingle, feeling like static in the air before a lightning strike.
Momo tried to form her psychic hand constructs in an effort to get in a good hit of her own. They flickered, but never formed fully. She couldn’t concentrate. Her head hurt – had she banged it off the ground? Argh! She wanted to kick the alien’s ass, too! One good hit! Payback for ruining her day!
As if sensing her mounting frustration, Okarun’s attacks became increasingly frenzied by equal measure. Some movements became a blur, others going entirely unseen. Each strike landed with brutal efficiency. Okarun’s training had clearly paid off – he knew how to swing a damn good punch now.
Things took a turn when his massive maw unhinged, teeth poised on either side of the alien’s head.
It took Aira grabbing his arm for him to snap out of it. “Takakura-sama!”
He stumbled back from the alien, teeth snapping together with an audible clack. He pulled his arm from Aira’s grasp and slouched deeply next to the alien he’d nearly decapitated. “What a bummer.”
The alien, barely conscious after his vicious beating, understandably chose that moment to faint.
Momo finally managed to roll herself onto her back like a sad little turtle. Sitting up was an issue. She really, really did not want to unfold her arms. They were tucked up nice and tight to her chest. If she put any kind of pressure on her hands, she was sure they’d snap in half. So, she was a sad little turtle trying to sit up without arms.
The thing about no-armed sit-ups was they always looked easier when someone else was doing them. She couldn’t even concentrate properly on picking herself up with her own telekinesis. It was during her third embarrassing attempt at rolling up with the power of her abs alone that she realized she probably should have focused a little less on psychic training and a little more on physical training.
From the periphery, she saw two defeated aliens slinking along in the shadows to gather their fallen brethren. Apparently, from the sounds of their muttering, they weren’t getting paid nearly enough to put up with this bullshit. Aliens needed a better union if they were going to keep getting hired by those cheap-ass shitheel Serpoians.
Empty Space cleared up the moment the aliens exited stage left.
The world did not change all that much upon their return. Black sky bloomed to orange sunset; the sounds of the city carried on the cool evening breeze. The empty parking lot set up for the ambush remained empty, no well-meaning bystanders around to wonder why so many teens looked like they’d just been dragged through a mosh pit.
Momo was halfway into a sit-up – she was going to make it all the way up this time, really! - when a gust of air blew her hair back. Okarun was suddenly by her side, still in Turbo form, helping her with one long hand braced against her back and another stabilizing her at the shoulder.
“You’re hurt,” he observed, the flatness of his voice belying the actual worry in his flame-bright red eyes.
“I’ve had worse... I think.” She couldn’t think of a specific moment right then, but she was sure she’d had worse in the past. Fucked up hands were nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Aira sidled up, hands on her hips, no longer transformed. “You ate shit back there.”
“No shit, Sherlock. They got in a lucky hit.” Pain lanced fresh through Momo’s hands; the adrenaline was wearing off, and with it came the full brunt of her injuries. At least one hand had to be broken, if not both. It would freaking suck if it was both.
Jiji and Vamola crowded in to be a part of the shit show.
“Hurt hands,” Vamola said, concern evident as she reached out to gently touch one of Momo’s wrists.
Her palms and the undersides of her arms were scraped raw from the pavement. Both hands and her right wrist were swelling up angrily. She was going to have sausage fingers soon. Thank god she wasn’t wearing any rings.
Okarun shifted his weight restlessly. Sunlight glared off the lenses of his glasses; his toothy maw remained in place, hiding his full expression. “It’s my fault, yo. Should have been faster.”
“You were fighting with the others. I should have been watching my back better.” She’d been too busy keeping an eye on everyone else, taking too much joy in smacking bad guys around with her psychic hands, that she’d lost track of the third troll. She should have picked up on his aura or something.
“That one is definitely broken.” Aira pointed to the left one.
“Broken,” Vamola echoed.
“Maybe it’s just a really bad sprain?” Jiji crouched by Momo’s side with a grimace. “Think we should call an ambulance or something? You’ll definitely need someone to look at your hands.”
“But I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Momo whined, kicking her feet petulantly. “This is bullshit! It was just one hit!”
A faint growl rumbled from deep in Okarun’s throat. “You need to be looked after.”
“Granny can look after me!”
“Don’t be difficult,” he admonished, gangling hands reaching for her.
He barely touched her elbow.
Momo sucked in a sharp breath, freezing into a full-body cringe when an especially painful wave radiated up her arms.
Okarun recoiled as if burned, immediately shrinking back into his regular human form where he could manage his size and strength more easily. Worry was now evident in his overly expressive eyes; he didn’t try hiding it from her. He was roughed up from the fight, dirt smudged on his cheeks, a small cut near his temple, bruises starting to form on his knuckles; he showed no sign of feeling any of it. His attention was fully fixed on Momo.
“Ayase-san, you’re obviously hurt. Please let one of us call for help.” He had the kind of big, wet doe eyes that Momo had a hard time saying no to, especially when he was looking at her like that.
“Fine,” she bit out. “Call Granny. If she says I have to go to the hospital, I will.”
Okarun’s face broke into a relieved smile.
“Calling her now,” Aira announced with an unnecessary air of superiority, phone in hand, the Ayase home phone number already dialed.
Momo groaned.
Mistaking the noise for pain, Okarun dithered, hands moving uselessly in the air when he couldn’t figure out what he could do to help. This wasn’t the first time any of their group had been hurt in a fight. Hell, Okarun himself had walked away from fights barely breathing, near death. He worried for all of them, yet he saved his most diligent worrying for Momo. His degree of concern reflected in the red sheen flashing in his eyes, on the cusp of slipping back into his yokai form if his emotions got anymore intense.
Momo took pity on him, indicating with her head for him to come closer. When he was close enough, she scooched the last few inches to lean into his side. The extra support didn’t make her hands hurt any less, but his closeness did offer a good amount of comfort. He even wrapped his arm around her waist - slowly, cautiously, ready to pull back if she didn't like it, but reached out to her nevertheless. Momo hummed, relaxing into him further. In human form, he was warm and solid. His presence alone afforded a sense of safety she rarely felt with anyone else.
“Stay like that until Granny gets here.” She made herself as comfortable as she could.
Okarun took the order to heart, freezing to the spot in a disconcertingly literal manner.
“You’re still allowed to breathe.”
A puff of air blew past his lips. Momo hoped it was a laugh and not evidence that he’d actually been holding his breath.
Aira hung up, eyeing the way Momo was leaning into Okarun. Wisely, she said nothing. “Seiko-san is calling a taxi right now. No idea when she’ll get here. I only told her you were hurt, not any of the details.”
“Lovely.” Momo let her head fall back against Okarun’s, groaning in earnest. “She’s going to be such a pain when she gets here.”