Swift
It had been a couple days since I last saw Swift. I kept calling him and texting him, but he never answers and I'm always left sitting on my bed waiting for him to show up.
Well one night he did. And attached to him were about three kunai and a goddamned arrow.
I was sitting on my bed when I heard a knock on my window. I jumped up to see if it was him and sure enough, it was.
But something seemed off. When he pulled back his hand it left a bloody three-fingered print on the glass and when I let him in, he looked like he had just been hit by a car.
His left eye was swollen and his face was cut up badly. He had a kunai attached to both of his arms as well as his shoulder and an arrow in his side. His clothes were torn and his wakizashi was nowhere to be found on his body. I scanned him over with shock written all over my face before I shoved him into my bathroom to avoid blood spilling on my carpeted floor.
I pulled the three kunai from his body before grabbing the arrow, yanking it out of his side. He only flinched. I tossed all four items to the side and ripped off his mask, jacket, and shirt, examining the damage.
I felt the color drain from my face upon seeing what kind of damage he took.
His shoulder was fucked up from the kunai and his side was bleeding from the arrow wound. The cuts on his face were deep and a couple of them would need stitches. But the one thing that made my heart ache the most was the many slash wounds on his chest and back.
He had many across his chest, and even more along his back. He was bleeding so much from these simple wounds and it made me want to puke. Luckily, I didn't.
I was silent as I worked on his wounds. I sloppily stitched his side up after watching a quick tutorial on how to sew on my phone, and after that I began to fix his shoulder as well. The cuts and slashes were no problem, but everything was sloppily done due to my nausea. I wasted two boxes of band-aids and three entire rolls of bandages. I'd have to buy more later on...
He gave me a sympathetic look when I was done and he watched me as I washed the blood off my hands. I grabbed his jacket and his shirt, throwing them in my bathtub temporarily.
I walked out and he followed me, only in his pants and his shoes. He gently took me in his arms and let me catch my breath. I buried my face into his good shoulder, hoping to calm down long enough to erase the dizziness, but it unfortunately didn't make me feel any better.
"It's okay, sweetheart...I'll be fine..."
"How do I know...?" I muttered pitifully in response, and he lifted my chin up so we were making eye-contact with each other.
"Have faith, baby...have faith..."

Rebel

I gasped upon seeing Rebel outside my window, bloody from obvious injuries and wet from the pouring rain. I couldn't help the few tears that fell down my face as I stared in horror at his form. Still, knowing already from the get-go that I needed to help him, I ran into my bathroom and gathered the supplies I needed to help him.

First I draped three towels in front of the window before allowing him to step in. When he landed on my floor he nearly fell over and I had to help him steady himself. I used one arm to wrap around his waist while I reached for my desk chair with the other. I let him sit down on it while I removed his jacket and shirt.

I had to turn away and hold back tears when I saw his bloody body. But I knew I had to keep going-his pants were bloodied too.

Once I had stripped him down to his boxers, I helped him up from the chair and had him stand on the towels while I made a path for him.

"Can you walk?" I asked him, and he gave me a curt nod. I gestured for him to follow the path of towels to the hallway bathroom, and soon enough he was taking a shower and washing off all that blood. I collected the towels and threw them in my hamper, hoping that neither of my parents had plans to shower tonight.

When he was done and dressed in his boxers, I began to stitch him up and clean his wounds.

"What happened?" I asked, fixing a cut on his left pec. Even though I was healing his wounds, I couldn't help the soft blush on my cheek as I studied his toned body.

"Ambushed while on patrol." His curt response hurt my heart. He sounded angry...

I finished wrapping up his chest and was about to get him a clean pair of clothes when he gripped my hand and pulled me back. I gave his hand a quick squeeze, looking at his lips that had now turned up into a smile.

"Thanks, (Y/N)..."

Ghost

I knew nothing about bandaging up wounds or stitching up deep cuts. So when Ghost showed up at my house requesting medical attention, I didn't know what to do.

He had come in through my window and I expected him to be as quiet as he usually was. But the moment he was in the apartment he was yelling for me to grab a first aid kit. I did as I was told, since disobeying Ghost was similar to suicide, and grabbed a poorly thrown together first aid kit from my kitchen.
He had already stripped off his sleeveless turtleneck(this is still fucking hilarious to type)and was currently in the process of observing a wound in his side.
"What the fuck happened?!" I yelled, and Ghost gave me an angry stare.
"What the fuck do you think happened?! I got shot, dumbass!" He yelled back. I groaned and shoved the first aid kit into his open palm. He gave me this weird look, like he expected me to bandage him up. I rolled my eyes and walked out, feeling a slight pang of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I would never admit it, but when it came to this shit I had no clue what to do or how to react.
Needless to say he didn't really need my help. Within minutes he had the wound all patched up and his shirt in the washer along with my clothes. I had to admit I didn't mind him walking around like that. Shirtless and exposing his tattoos even further. The only sad part was that I didn't get to touch.
When he decided to join me on the couch, his arm went around my waist and I assumed my lack of medical skills were forgiven. I leaned into his side and tried not to think about his toned body too much.
Needless to say, I failed.

M.C.

Watching my boyfriend crawl through my tiny kitchen window on a Saturday night was a huge surprise for me, especially because he could barely fit in it in the first place...
And because he was bleeding. A lot.
My first reaction was to make sure he got in okay before rushing him up the stairs and into the hallway bathroom. Already knowing what to do, he stripped off his shirt and vest, leaving him bare-chested. I got out the first aid.
His chest was fine, but his back was a mess. He had thin cuts all along his back like he had been hit with a razor-sharp whip. None of them were deep, so all I had to do was clean them and patch them. It was a quick process, and soon enough he was on his feet. I gave him a white tank-top my father owned so he didn't run around half-naked.
"What happened?" I asked, walking back down the stairs and feeling the rush of adrenaline fade away. He sat down on the couch and sighed, throwing his head back and staring at me upside-down.
"Jumped. I got sent out on patrol by myself and the next thing I know I'm getting the shit beat outta me and I'm not even three blocks away from the hideout."
I sat down next to him and his arm draped lazily around my shoulder. His head was still thrown back and he seemed enraptured by the ceiling above him. I decided to just relax there with him, and he didn't seem to mind my company. We stayed like that for most of the night.