15.? Maybe with Bertie and Syrryl?
15. nothing to see here: hiding an injury? Character A? Never. The growing red stain on their clothing? Just some spilled paint, they promise. Now if you’ll excuse them, they have to go collapse in some quiet corner where no one can see them
Alright! So this isn’t an exact fill of the prompt since everyone knows Bertie is injured though he’s still hiding. BUT I did manage a bit of a two for one special by getting Syrryl in there too. For context this is set immediately after the Departing in Path of Fire. Warning: this included discussion, though not any depiction, of amputation/loss of a limb and some descriptions of pretty heavy scarring. If I need to add any other content warnings please let me know. Just to keep everyone safe and happy. Oh also it’s long as hell. Enjoy!
The hull of the airship hummed quietly around him as it flew towards the main body of Joko’s leaderless army, as Bertie shifted painfully, fruitlessly trying to find a way to curl up that would afford him a small amount of relief. The endeavor was pointless. The medicine the ship’s doctor had given him before….when he’d come on board was wearing off and his entire left side ached, a dull throbbing pain that threatened to blot out the world. He shouldn’t be down here, should be up in the sick bay, resting and recovering as much as he could. But that would mean seeing his friends’ faces as they looked at him, would mean enduring Kasmeer’s repeated, tentative questions about how he was feeling, Canach’s failed attempts to be his usual flippant self, Rytlock’s angry guilt, even Syrryl wouldn’t look him in the eye. Gritting his teeth, Bertie shifted again and almost toppled over as he lost his balance. Right. His center of gravity was different now that…his mind still balked at the concept. He’d died and come back and yet that wasn’t the thing his brain was struggling to comprehend. Though considering everything that had happened so far in his life, dying perhaps wasn’t that strange. At least he’d died protecting Aurene. Well, failing to protect Aurene.
The thought of the little dragon, his charge, his daughter, mostly likely alone and terrified made Bertie’s heart clench and he sat up, taking a deep breathe. Aurene needed him. He could do this. He could process this and find a solution and keep moving forward. He could do this. He’d give up his warhammer and just start using pistols…a pistol again. He took a hold of the loose jacket one of the crew had given him. He could do this. It’d be fine. He pushed the garment off his shoulder and looked at his left side. He could do this.
He couldn’t do this.
His arm was gone.
Factually, he knew this, had been fully conscious and cognizant when they’d told him that nearly all the bones in the limb had been shattered in Balthazar’s attack, beyond all possible repair, even magical. Hell, he himself had told them to cut the damn thing off, three inches above his elbow. There’d been no other option. So there was no reason for his stomach to flip and his head to spin as he looked at the bandaged remains. And yet it did anyway. At least it wasn’t his dominate hand, his reeling brain supplied and for some reason the thought sent him into a fit of hysterical giggles.
The dull pain intensified as Bertie’s body shook and his laughter morphed into muffled sobs as he gave up on comfort and dignity and simply curled up on his good side as best he could. He remained there as eventually the tears and laughter stopped and he began to doze, drifting in and out of consciousness.
An immeasurable amount of time later, the clang of metal on metal roused Bertie from his stupor. Lifting his tired head, he could hear muffled curse words coming from nearby. Assuming it to be one of the sailors, he hunkered back down and tried to ignore it.
“Stupid glitching thing…Bertie? I know you’re down here.”
Bertie sighed at the sound of Syrryl’s voice. He just wanted to be left alone. Left alone to rest and not think about anything for as long as possible. Maybe if he just stayed quiet-
“You better not have passed out somewhere,” Syrryl continued, his voice slightly strained. It sounded like he was attempting to drag something heavy across the storage hold’s floor. “And don’t even think about trying the whole ‘I’ll just stay quiet until he leaves’ trick. I will— glitch, move dammit— find you sooner or later.”
Bertie covered his face with his hand, his one remaining hand his asshole brain reminded him, and groaned. “I haven’t passed out,” he said between gritted teeth.
“Good,” Syrryl responded with another noise of effort. “Because otherwise I would have to drag you to the med bay by your ears. Your overly long ears, you hear me?”
Bertie sighed again and slowly, painfully dragged himself up until he was propped against a wooden crate. He burrowed down in the baggy jacket he wore and watched dully as Syrryl appeared around the corner. He was dragging a toolbox almost as big as he was with a bundle wrapped in cloth carefully balanced on top. Syrryl dropped the end he was holding with a thump and wiped his forehead, fingers deftly adjusting the lenses on his monocle to focus better in the dim light. “I brought you more pain meds by the way. Figured yours will have worn off by now.”
Bertie just kept staring him, eyes unfocused, too exhausted to form a response. Normally, he’d be glad to take the medication, ready to get back on his feet, figure out a plan, move forward, ask Syrryl why he’d lugged a tool box all the way down here but…
“Bertie?“ Syrryl took a step closer crouching down in front of him. He was trying to make his voice gentle and soothing which made just made him sound awkward and uncomfortable. “I know…I know you’re struggling right now and…and…glitch I’m bad at this.”
Bertie curled up tighter, turning away from the smaller asura. Why couldn’t he just leave him alone? He heard Syrryl let out a frustrated sigh and then take in a deep, deep breath as though he were about to go underwater. Then there was a rustle of movement and a strange clicking noise, like a clock being stopped.
“Bertie,” Syrryl said, his voice….odd. “Look at me.”
Bertie shook his head and finally found his voice. “Go away, Syrryl.” He could feel tears starting to clog his throat. He hated crying in front of people.
“No. Look at me.”
“Just leave me alone.”
“Dammit Bertie, I’m trying to tell- glitch, show you something important! Look at me!”
Syrryl’s small, strong hands suddenly grasped Bertie’s face and turned it gently but firmly around, so the two of them were almost nose to nose.
For a moment, Bertie almost didn’t recognize the face in front of his, despite having seen it every day for years. Then the pieces clicked together and his mouth dropped open. Syrryl wasn’t wearing his eyepiece.
And underneath, where Bertie had always assumed there was a just another grey eye, was a ruinous swath of scar tissue. The skin was burnt, shiny and raw looking, in almost a perfect circle surrounding Syrryl’s eye socket. Embedded in the socket itself was some manner of arcane device that clearly connected to Syrryl’s monocle, no his eyepatch, apparently affixed to his skull with small bolts. Extensive surgery had clearly been done to repair the structural damage of the injury but even so it was clear that whatever had happened had been catastrophic.
“Oh,” Bertie said. He didn’t flinch or try to pull away from Syrryl’s grip, just looked at him. “Oh….I never…I always thought…”
Syrryl’s fingers tightened momentarily on Bertie’s jaw before carefully releasing him and stepping back. “Everyone does.”
“What…happened?” Bertie asked, uncertain if he was allowed to know. He was allowed to know this, when clearly no one else did he thought feeling a bit unmoored. He could still feel where Syrryl had touched his face.
Syrryl fiddled with the detached eye piece now sitting on top of the toolbox next to the bundle, avoiding Bertie’s gaze again. “Lost my eye in a fight. Flaxx…replaced it with some experimental tech. Now I can see again. In a different, slightly more complicated way then before, but…well I manage just fine.”
Bertie nodded, unable to stop looking at Syrryl’s exposed face. Even know after years, his friend still managed to surprise him. The silence between them stretched, as it often did. A bit more awkwardly than usual perhaps but Bertie found some of the tension in his body finally starting to relax.
“Thank you.” The words startled him as much as they surprised Syrryl.
Syrryl nodded, a slight blush coloring his pale, freckled skin. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t even given you your present yet.”
Bertie cocked his head to the side in confusion. “My present?”
Syrryl turned and picked up the bundle resting on the tool box. Laying in on the floor, he carefully began to unwrap it. Groaning, Bertie managed to stand up to get a better look at the emerging object, carefully cradling his bandaged side. The thing was clearly mechanical, with an odd shape, four articulated pistons hung limply on one end with a fifth set perpendicular to them, the other end finished in a cuff as though the whole contraption attached to something and…..
“Syrryl,” Bertie said. “Is that….Tybalt’s…um…”
Syrryl looked slightly sheepish. He seemed to have a harder time keeping his expression deadpan without his eyepiece. “I found it after the Pact retook Claw Island, tucked away in a corner,” he explained, carefully turning the old prosthetic over. “Knowing Tybalt, he probably left it there for me to find.”
“And you kept it with you all this time?” Bertie asked incredulously.
Syrryl shrugged, apparently completely unembarrassed. “I thought it might come in handy. Besides, good engineers don’t just let their machines get scrapped….
“They reinvent and reuse,” Bertie finished their old shared friend’s catchphrase. “I feel like I got scrapped,” he admitted.
“Well,” Syrryl said, reattaching his monocle with a series of faint clicks, “let’s see about reinventing you then.” He opened the tool box and pulled out a wrench that he examined skeptically. “Mechanical engineering isn’t my area of expertise.” He turned and met Bertie’s eyes with his, one hidden, one revealed. “But you tell me what modifications to make and I’ll do the best I can.”
Bertie stared at the old prosthetic, remembering how Tybalt had helped him build his gyros from bits and pieces, odds and ends that had just been lying around. The memory of the old charr’s cheerful determination brought the prickle of tears to his eyes. If Tybalt could scrap himself back together, if Syrryl could come back from whatever had happened to his eye, then he could too. He sniffed and cleared his throat, the outlines of a blueprint starting to form in his mind. “Well first things first, we gotta get the right number of fingers on this thing….”
