Restless far from a Wine Dark sea - Alt prompt broken bones - fuckin oops
This is a 2 parter. Got a bit long.
Towards the begining of Fogal's captiviy, after he has recovered a bit from initial injuries and blood loss, but his wounds are still healing.
snippet for @medwhumpmay
Tw captivity, accidental injury, restraints, threat, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee, religious whumpee, drugs/medication, medical talk, broken bone, punctured lung, minor self harm
Nathaniel may be a dirty fucking sellout but he wasn’t going to answer that.
He dug his fingers into the wound on his tail, hard, the pain clearing his thoughts,
“Fogal, stop that right now.” Logan commanded.
“Fuck you.” Nathaniel splayed his fingers out and nearly choked on the wave of pain. He was angry, so angry, and his captors gave him no other way to release the anger climbing up his throat.
He writhed, full body movements making his battered body scream with pain, his broken arm, the stab wounds in his tail, his fractured ribs. But the anger burned brighter than pain.
“Hold him.” His interrogator commanded. Immediately a guard clamped down around Nathaniel’s head, while another threw himself over his torso.
Pain rose in an intense wave, blindingly bright, and Nathaniel screamed.
–8888–
Logan skirted around the bed to the merman’s left side to get a better view of his face trapped beneath the guard’s arm. Only his eyes were visible, darting, bright with fear and unshed tears.
It wasn’t the first time the seamonster had responded to questioning with outrage and self-harm, but Logan could not allow such behaviours to go unchecked. It was bad for their relationship to have to constrain the captive merman like this, but sometimes there was no avoiding it.
Fogal’s hands were spasming, clawed and vicious against the second guard's gloved hand that was clasped protectively around the sea monster's damaged tail.
“I need you to calm yourself Fogal, the guards will release you if you stop moving. We can’t let you hurt yourself…” Logan started a litany of grounding words as the sea monster writhed with rage.
The merbeast screamed until he choked on the cries, coughing against the guards arm. Energy seeming depleted after his tantrum, Fogal slumped, hauling in breaths through his nose.
“You can take your time, Fogal, we can wait a while. I will give you space.”
Fogal glared at him for a moment, then closed his eyes. Logan waited patiently, not wanting to push him back into anger.
Logan thought he was probably trying to calm himself. There wasn't much of his body or face showing above the guard’s bodies pressed over him.
“That's good, just breathe for a moment,” Logan soothed.
The mer whined at his words, no doubt resenting the encouragement to calm.
“The panic attack has lasted 90 seconds." Dr Orange mused over the comms, "We will have to low-dose sedate him at the 120 second mark. This isn’t good for his circulatory system. His blood oxygen has fallen and it will make it less likely for him to be able to snap out of it.”
“I can see your trying, I can tell you are trying. Just a little more and the guard can let go.” Logan urged.
The sea monster screwed his eyes tight shut, and forced out 3 shallow breaths. He stopped moving. There was a whine in every breath but he appeared to have mostly stilled his rage, at least enough to allow Logan to give home some grace to movement.
“Ok.” Logan spoke softly. “I think you are doing well enough that we can let the guard on your chest off…” He nodded to the guard, who cautiously raised himself off Fogal's body.
Fogal whimpered loudly into the arm that was still against his face, his eyes still screwed tight shut and tension in his expression. He was calm and still for a moment.
He coughed, and coughed again, and then he screamed.
A line of scarlet seeped through the sheet, a bright slash across the merman's chest.
What?
"Dr Orange, advise…" Logan forced himself to keep his voice level, tamping down his shock. “Alright Fogal, I can see something happened, we didn't mean to hurt you, the doctor is going to help you…”
“The guard may have rebroken his rib when he was restrained,” Orange’s heavy breathing came through the mic, “On my way…” The doors opened, and Orange and a nurse rushed in. Fogal whimpered against the guard’s arm that remained against his face.
“I am just going to take a look under the sheet,” Orange remembered to keep his patient informed despite the rush, as he peeled back the bloodied fabric.
“The 6th rib is visibly broken, creating a divot maybe 30mm deep into the chest. A quick visual inspection shows now external wound for that blood to have come from.” Orange unwound his stethoscope, “I am going to touch you, gently, just above the rib.”
Fogal gave a muffled noise of worry, which devolved into a coughing fit. Orange placed his stethoscope on his chest and listened with intense concentration.
“Punctured lung.” He spoke after a few seconds, “Quite rapid entry of blood directly into the alveoli.…”
“Fogal, can you rate your pain for me please,” Logan tried to distract the mercreature, “Just flick a hand signal.”
Fogal blinked a couple times, before flicking his fingers. A splayed hand, and then four fingers.
“9? Bad enough you can’t think about anything else and can't really think past the pain?”
The merman coughed in reply.
“Ok, we are going to help you, we will give you something to help the pain.” Logan reassured,
“...Oxygen has fallen to 80%. Can we release his face to get him on respiratory support?” A voice over the comms.
Logan regarded Fogal’s pain drawn face.
“Now he knows we want to help his pain, he is much calmer. We can release you, can’t we Fogal?”
The merman blinked slowly at him.
“Good. Slowly now.”
The guard raised his arm. There was blood smeared across Fogal’s chin, painting his lips cherry red. He hacked up another round of coughing, blood splattering into his chest. He slumped back into the pillows, breathing fast and shallow.
Fogal brought his head down to his shoulder, one of his most common stims, but this time he sunk his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, fangs piercing flesh as he injected himself with potent pain-killing mer venom.
“Fogal, no!” Logan reprimanded.
The guard moved with practised movements, grabbing a thick handful of hair to push the mercreature’s head down and jamming steel-wrapped fingers in his mouth to get him to disengage. Fogal made no noise of protest as his head was hoisted up by the secure grip, blood dripping from his open mouth.
The nurse scooped his face into the oxygen mask, and secured it with loops over his ears. The guard took it from the nurse, holding it securely against Fogal's face.
“Why did you do that?” Logan asked, askance. “We can’t give you any medicine if you are envenomed.”
The merman just coughed a wad of blood into his oxygen mask, grimaced, and flipped him off.
“That was not ideal.” The anaesthetist on the comms informed them. “Right. From our understanding of mer venom from reports of humans who have been bitten and in animal testing, the venom is a pain killer, it decreases heart rate, it is not a blood thinner, and it does act as far more of a euphoric than other sedatives. If we are lucky it may help him to stay calm without causing the disorientation that caused sedated people to fight. We’ll see how his vitals change and hope we can still sedate if surgical intervention is required. The venom should be short term.”
No option to sedate. That made Logan’s role in keeping an angry injured merman cooperative vital to success.
“...We need to do an X-ray to work out how much air or blood has entered the thorax…” Dr Orange threw around medical terms. “Pulmonary sounds like there is a significant amount of blood in the lungs and pleural cavity. Given recent history of blood loss complications immediate treatment is needed. And I still don’t know how he got covered in blood. Is there anything we can give him for sedation or pain?”
“ A topical analgesic like lidocaine will be fine, and he should be eligible for general tranquiliser within 30 minutes.”
“Dr Orange is going to put some pain medicine on your broken rib,” Logan informed Fogal, “It is going to feel numb, but it’s still broken so you are going to have to stay still or you will make it hurt more. Do you think you can stay still?”
Fogal looked tiredly at him. His pupils were blown wide on his own venom.
“Gills.” He said nonsensically.
The nurse squirted a generous amount of the clear paste onto Fogal’s bruised and bloodied chest.
“Ok. Ok.” Orange held his gloved hands up above his waistline, as if he was already in the surgery room, “we are going to need an X-ray. I am calling a code 703 emergency room-to-room mer transportation while continuous. Can I have permission? " His voice was serious.
703. Fogal must have been bad if they were willing to move him while conscious. Bad enough there was no other option. The comms were silent for a moment.
“703 Permission granted. Let's go people.”
The medical staff moved fast to ready the sea monster for transportation.
“Hey Fogal, we are going to use a special machine that will show us where the damage is before we can fix it. It won't hurt, but we are going to have to take you to another room to use it. The bed has got wheels so we can just wheel the bed out, we don't have to switch beds or anything that will jostle the bed. Just a corridor ride. Ok?”
“Ok, ready for transfer.” Dr Orange commanded.
“I am going to be right here the whole time” Logan held onto the side of the bed to help push.
Fogal gave a soft sound of surprise as they started moving out into the antechamber packed with emergency equipment. His eyes darted around, face starting to crease with fear.
“Hey, Fogal, look at me.” Logan commanded. The merman refocused his wide-eyed gaze back onto the interrogator, “There are going to be some strange medical machines around, but I promise they are to help you and help mer. You aren’t hurt on purpose here. You are not tortured.”
The merman’s eyes flicked across Logan's face, and his posture slumped more into acceptance. He averted his gaze to observe the concrete walls flicking past with a detached curiosity.
“Logan, I will join you once you get to the radiography room.” Elias’ voice came through the comms, “I can’t see much from up here. I will take my cane in case we are standing for any length of time, but I will keep it out of his line of sight.”
Logan gave a tight smile to the nearest camera. The role Elias played towards the merman was better suited to times like these than Logan’s was.
The team burst into the X-ray room, and Dr Orange took charge once more.
“Ok, we need to get an x-ray board under you. We are going to just push it behind your back… Logan, can you hold the O2 mask on?” Orange hoisted a board up, and Fogal leaned forwards as much as the restraints would allow him to let the doctor get the board behind him.
“This is an x-ray. It will not hurt you.” Orange manoeuvred a massive machine over Fogal. Fogal looked to Logan with big eyes.
“It’s a special camera that is going to take a photo of your chest to let the doctor’s know what’s happened to your chest.”
“Broken rib.” Fogal spoke. “You broke.” he said mildly.
“We know we accidentally re-broke your rib, and it has clearly damaged your lungs on the inside. But we need to take a special x-ray picture to know if it has hit something that makes you bleed alot internally, and what is the best way to stop the bleeding.
“Hmmmm.” the merman hummed neutrally
“Ok. We are going to turn all the lights off. Logan is going to stay with you, but all the medical staff will leave.”
Elias came up behind Logan and clipped a x-ray badge onto his lapel.
“Hey Fogal,”
“Elias.” Fogal spoke.
“How you holding up Fogal?”
-pain. Scared. - he made a little pair of fangs with his fingers and mimed biting, -good. No. pain. calm.-
“The venom may feel good and make you calm, but it is much safer to let us use our medicine, Fogal. You could have slept through all this if it wasn’t for the venom. But we are going to do whatever is safe to sort you out now.”
Fogal flicked his eyes dismissively.
-hurt. 5. bite/venom. Hurt. 8. No. bite/venom.-
Orange strode back into the room.
“We need more ‘pictures.’ We are going to lay you down flat. It might hurt. There isn’t much I can give you for the pain since you used mer venom, but let me know if you feel unbearable pain.”
The bed started lowering and Fogal screwed his eyes shut against pain, his already laboured breath coming in stuttering wet gasps.
Now flat on his back, his eyes flickered from the guards looming above him. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes.
He coughed, coughed again, then the skin of his chest split open and blood spilled.
Elias stared, speechless.
“Oh. Were those gills?” Orange asked, “I suppose now we can estimate how fast the bleeding is.” Then he scowled, “Switching to gills might complicate things a bit.”
Fogal just blinked peacefully. His breathing seemed a lot less ‘wet.’
“We’ll take the X-ray quickly and get him upright again.”
The X-rays were taken swiftly, and Fogal was returned to an upright position by the nurse.
“We are going to debate approaches with the medical team now. Just - amuse yourselves for now.”
“Last time I got stabbed in the lungs, the doctor Przyżegać burned. He let me drink the rum." Fogal spoke almost dreamily.
“Przyżegać… is that cauterise? When a doctor uses heat to seal a wound?” Elias asked.
-Yes- Fogal signed.
“That is really really useful to know Fogal.” Logan recalled the faint silvery mark on Fogal’s chest, “Is that where the scar on your chest is from?”
-Yes-
“I will tell the medical team. We are arguing if the gills will affect the lung lining. This is why we should have experimented with his underwater breathing sooner rather than later, though I know now is not the time for griping.”
“Did he do anything else to help you?”
-Faint. Hungry.-
“You fainted? And he fed you?”
-Yes-
“Are you hungry now?”
Fogal shook his head cautiously.
“I will soon…” He admitted.
“We have been debating, and we need to act fast, so we are going to twilight sedate him with Fentynl as we are pretty sure venom and opiates mix ok. We are going to have to open him up and find the damaged blood vessel and sort it. No pain, no memory retention, hazed out, no respiratory tubes- unless it goes badly. Wakes up with some stitches in a couple hours. Ok? We’ll take him to the OR now. You can tell him what to expect…”
Part 2 Day 10 - Emergency surgery fuckin oops again here
Nova and Amilia crashed to the ground. Slowly Amilia sat up, coughing. She looked around. It took her a moment before she noticed Nova on the ground not so far from her. He was curled up on his side, arms folded around his middle.
“Nova?” Amilia asked.
He groaned and just lifted his head slightly his head slightly.
“Amilia?” he muttered, winching, pressing his hand against his ribs. It hurt more than he wanted to admit. He was sure that he had more than one broken rib, going by how hard it was to keep breathing.
“I’m here” Amilia said as she struggled to her feet, looking around “What happened? Where are we?”
Nova groaned as he slowly sat up. He tried to take a deep breath, but a sharp pain shot through the right side of his chest. It caused him to gasp for breath. His chest felt tight and he couldn’t take a proper breath. So he just settled for short gasping breaths.
He looked around, keeping his hand pressed against his chest. It looked like they were in some kind of industrial area. He did not recognize anything.
“Shit... I don’t know” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. His vision blurred, going out of focus for a moment.
Amilia stumbled towards him, going down on her knees. “Are you alright?” she asked softly.
Nova blinked a few times before looking over at her. “I’m fine...” he muttered.
She bit her lip. “You’re lying to me” she said softly “But that’s fine... “
Clenching his jaw, Nova slowly got to his feet. The world around him turned slightly and Amilia caught his arm.
“You idiot” she said. His breathing sounded off, a bit to irregular and shallow for her liking. “You’re not alright... If you need help... You need to tell me. I’ll... I’ll do what I can...”
Nova just placed a hand on her wrist.
“I’m alright...” he said, his breathing wheezing through his chest.
“Like hell you are” Amilia said “Your breathing’s off. Meaning you injured yourself somewhere... I’m not an idiot, Nova”
***
Nova groaned as he and Amilia slowly walked through the industrial area. He was keeping his arm pressed tightly against his chest, trying not to move very much.
“This is crazy...” Amilia said “We should just fly out of here”
“Be my guest” Nova muttered, feeling his heart beating rapidly against his chest. He was starting to feel kind of light headed.
“I’m not leaving you here, Nova” Amilia said sternly “And you know that”
Nova sighed and flinched as a bolt of pain shot through his chest, making him stumble. Amilia caught his arm.
He gasped, struggling to keep his breathing under control. Coughing, he felt another bolt of pain going through his body as his chest constricted. He tasted blood and spat it out, just allowing Amilia to keep him up.
“I’m fine...” he muttered.
“Fine my ass” Amilia snapped “You look like death”
“Broken ribs...”
Amilia groaned and shook her head. “And by the looks of it, a punctured lung” she said “Am I right?”
“Maybe...”
“You are impossible”
“We’re going to... need a place to stay” Nova muttered as he glanced at the setting sun.
Amilia looked around and nodded. “We can’t be out in the open like this”
Nova’s eyes flickered over the area around them. “There” he said nodding towards a building to the side.
“Looks alright” Amilia said and slipped under Nova’s arm “Come on, and don’t tell me that you don’t need help. You can barely stay on your feet”
Nova clenched his jaw, and allowed Amilia to help him. He picked the locked for them before they slipped inside, looking around. It was some kind of office building.
Amilia went through the building, leaving Nova leaning against the wall, next to the door. When she came back, Nova was on the ground, holding his ribs. He looked much paler than before, his breathing coming in a short struggling breaths.
“Let me take a look at you?” Amilia asked softly as she knelt in front of him.
Slowly Nova lifted his head slightly and nodded. “I’m.... please...” he muttered.
Amilia nodded and carefully placed her hand on his chest and closed her eyes. A soft glow appeared around her, before focusing around and on her hand and he his chest.
Nova gasped, his eyes widening slightly.
“Hold on a bit longer” Amilia said softly “I can’t... heal it completely... but this should help”
For a moment Nova held his breath, before groaning and closing his eyes for a moment. As Amilia pulled her hand away, Nova finally took a deep breath. The relief on his face was clear as he opened his eyes.
“Thanks” he said quietly.
Amilia smiled at him as she sat back. “That’s good” she said “You had me worried there for a moment”
“You worry to much...” Nova said winching. The pain wasn’t gone, but he could breath again “I’ll be fine”
“You’re never fine when you say that” Amilia said.
A slight smile pulled on his lips. He hesitated for a moment before pulling something out of his jacket pocket. It was a small box.
“Here” he said slowly “This is for your birthday”
Amilia blinked at the box for a moment before taking it. “But...”
“Yeah, I know... You birthday was last week” Nova said “I just... Couldn’t give it to you then...”
“You wanted me to remember you?” she asked softly.
Nova closed his eyes and nodded, just sitting exhausted back against the wall. “Yeah...” he muttered “It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t remember”
Amilia looked at him. “Can I open it?” she asked.
“It’s yours” he said “You can do with it what you want”
“Don’t be an ass, Nova” Amilia said, slapping his shoulder.
She made herself comfortable in front of him, sitting cross-legged as she slowly opened the package.
“Oh... Nova...” she breathed “It beautiful...”
Nova opened his eyes tiredly and just watched her for a moment, smiling slightly. “You like it?”
“I love it...” she said as she took out the aqua colored, hiking bracelet. She pulled it over her wrist and lifted her hand, smiling happily. “When did you...?”
“Iya helped out...” he muttered, eyes starting to close again “Back then...”
Amilia blinked. “But that was...” she started before shaking her head “Thank you... Dominic”
The corner of Nova’s mouth pulled into a slight smile as his eyes fluttered closed and he just slumped back. His breathing still slightly off. There was even a slight blue tint to his lips as his breathing wheezed through his chest.
Amilia sighed, putting the small box down next to her. Gently she brushed some of the dark blond hair from his face. His skin felt cold and clammy. She knew that he wasn’t in good shape right now.
“Please hold on...” she whispered “You cannot leave me, now that I’ve just found you again”
***
When Amilia woke up, Nova was gone. She quickly shot to her feet, looking around. If they were under attack, it wouldn’t do her any good to call out to him. That would just get both of them into trouble.
Before she could move again, Nova dropped drop from the second floor. Landing lightly in front of her.
He still looked pale. The bruises on his face were now even more visible than last night.
“Nova... What’s going on?” Amilia asked softly, she could hear movement outside the building and it did not sound good.
“We’re surrounded” Nova said, pressing a hand against his chest.
“I gathered that” Amilia said “Are you alright?”
Nova winched. “Better than last night” he said quietly “Still hurts to breath, but at least I can”
Amilia nodded. “I can try again” she said softly.
“No... You’re going to need your strength for us to get out of here”
“What are you planning, Nova?”
Nova titled his head slightly, the morning light that filtered through the high windows caught his hair, making it almost look like gold. His hair were ruffled and messy. Then he smiled slightly.
That moment froze for Amilia. It was the most human he’d ever seem, his eyes sparkling, albeit tired, hair shining in the sun.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly.
“I’m asking you... To trust me” Nova said, his eyes flickering to the bracelet around her wrist.
Amilia breathed out and watched him for a moment longer, burning the image of him into her mind.
“Let me take care of this, alright?” Nova said softly “I don’t want you getting involved in all of this”
“I already am, and you know that”
“Please... Amilia” Nova said almost gently.
She sighed. “You’re the one that’s injured... how do you want me to let you go out there on your own?”
“I’ll be fine” Nova said “You don’t have to worry about me”
“I will always worry about you” Amilia whispered and Nova smiled slightly.
He took a deep breath, winching at the pain in his chest before his eyes slowly turned vertical slit, feline eyes.
“If I get even the slightest idea that you are in trouble...” Amilia said “I will interfere”
Nova nodded slightly as he walked towards the door.
“Nova” Amilia said just before he could open the door. With two quick steps she was in front of him. For a moment the two just stared at each other, before Amilia threw he arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Be careful”
Nova stiffened for a moment before his body relaxed slightly and he hugged her back.
“I’ll do my best” he said before pulling away.
Without hesitation, Amilia went out after Nova, the moment she noticed that he was going to fall behind. He was going to get hurt even worse if this kept up.
When the fighting finally stopped, Nova could barely stay on his feet. His breathing wheezed through his chest as he struggled to draw in enough oxygen.
Amilia caught him before he could fall.
His eyes seemed confused, and unfocused.
“Nova...” Amilia breathed “Hey... You went overboard again”
A slight smile formed on Nova’s face as blood dripped down his chin. “You’re save...” he whispered, coughing, groaning at the pain in his chest.
Amilia sighed. “Oh Nova...” she whispered, brushing his hair from his face “You idiot. I can take care of myself. Let’s get you to a hospital...”
Warnings: Inadvisable first aid, inaccurate medical stuff, somewhat graphic depiction of injuries, bomb mention, mild gore
Summary: A mission goes horribly wrong for Mac and Murdoc as Mac fails to disarm a bomb and the ensuing explosion traps the pair under a building's worth of rubble. With their comms down and no signal on their phones, Mac must figure out how to keep them both alive while they wait for rescue.
First time submitting, probably isn't good, and this isn't on theme, b u t: punctured lungs. Whether the whumpee gets stabbed in the chest just a little too hard or a bullet decides to settle in it's new home and not come out, gimme 'em. Gimmie that suddenly out of breath whumpee struggling to get some air only to realize that it hurts to do so.
Not good??? It’s bloody brilliant! Well done on your first TAT. You must send more! :)
Riva opens her eyes and winces at the brightness. It’s all…white. All around her. She feels cocooned in it. It’s comforting – or it would be, if she didn’t have the nagging feeling she was forgetting something.
She blinked, staring at white walls and white sheets. There is something digging into her chest, a sense of urgency sitting next to it. She can feel a cold line running across her face, and her nose itches. She twitches her fingers, and they spasm with a jolt.
– it hurt to hold, it hurt to curl her fingers around the wood, she hesitated a beat too long, afraid of putting broken fingers in the path of a blow –
Get up. Get up. Get up.
She bolts upright and shrieks, breathless, when her chest explodes into agony. Her fingers refuse to curl, and there is something on her face, something sharp digging into her chest, she has to get up, she has to keep fighting, she has to –
There is an arm around her, bracing her, and Riva can hear words in between her heaving gasps. The hand gently pushes her back against the pillows, and Riva sees Landon’s face through blurry eyes.
“It’s okay,” he says, his voice calm, “It’s okay. Take deep breaths. You’re safe.”
Riva obeys him, sucking air frantically, and it does become easier to breathe. She can see the IV line digging into her arm, and the empty chairs around her bed. Landon’s face looks less calm and more exhausted the longer she stares at him – his clothes are rumpled, his hair is messy and…his left arm seems to be in a sling.
Riva squints at him. “What happened?” she croaks.
Landon watches, hovering over her, until he’s convinced she’s not going to hack up a lung, at which point he eases back into a chair. “You’re in the hospital,” he says quietly, bracing his good arm on the edge of the bed, “You have broken ribs – one of them punctured your lung.”
That explains the splinters in her chest, but that wasn’t what she was asking. “Katia won the duel,” he says lightly, “As you were unable to continue.” He doesn’t elaborate and Riva is aware that the hospital walls have prying ears.
Landon looks more exhausted than angry, so either she didn’t do too badly at the duel, or she did so badly that Landon has given up.
She doesn’t want to ask.
“It’s Sunday evening,” he says, and stifles a yawn and checks his watch, “Or early Monday morning.”
She’s been out for more than a day.
“The others were here till visiting hours ended,” Landon says, and there’s a small smile on his face that keeps sliding off. She wishes she can paste it there. Something pangs inside her heart every time Landon slips back into sadness.
“You’re still here,” Riva croaks. Landon gets her an ice chip and she sucks on it slowly, watching him.
“I may have bullied the nurses into letting me stay,” Landon chuckles. It rings with an awkward truth.
Riva stares at him. “What happened to your arm?” she asks finally.
The slight amusement on his face dies immediately. Riva freezes, unsure of what she’s stepped in.
“I broke it,” Landon says, and a bite in his tone discourages her from asking for further details.
“Katia,” she starts.
“Is not your problem,” Landon cuts off smoothly. He isn’t looking at her and Riva is afraid of what she’ll find on his face.
“Landon,” she says.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” he says. He’s fiddling with the blankets with one hand.
“Landon,” she tries again.
“Your ribs are healing, they say,” he says quietly. He smoothens out a wrinkle that only he can see.
“Landon.”
He looks up, and his eyes are glittering. She inhales sharply, and his face twists – she cannot decipher the expression, and it settles into misery. He blinks, and she watches the tear wind down his face, half-convinced that this is a dream.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and she catches his hand with stiff fingers. He lets her, lets her curl weak fingers through his and rub her thumb against his knuckles. “I’m so sorry, Riva.”
He inhales, and his breath hitches, and she squeezes his fingers because her chest is hollow and it’s not just due to the punctured lung.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, “I never should’ve let you fight her.”
“It’s okay,” Riva says quietly, “It’s not your fault.”
Landon smiles at her, and tear tracks gleam in the fluorescent light. “Yes, it is,” he says sadly. He returns her grip, squeezing her fingers for a moment, before he gets up.
“Sleep,” he says, leaning over her. There is a brief impression of warmth on her forehead, fingers sliding out of hers, blankets pulled up to her chin. “Sleep, Riva.”
She wants to protest that she isn’t tired, but her eyelids are heavy and her words die to an exhale.
“Sleep.” There is the sound of rustling, of a chair squeaking and a weight settling back in. “No one will touch you as long as I’m here.”
@castielamigos here’s part four! Part One, Two, and Three
So this one has some conlang in it that I played around with for my big OC work. I put the translations in the parenthesis cause I wasn’t 100% how best to show what he was saying--lemme know if you have any ideas? I could’ve re-worked it but I wanted to leave it in.
Oryn doesn’t get a whole lotta feed back, but I appreciate all of you who seem to like him :) @0idril0 as always was a huge help
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Oryn was paralyzed, his limbs refusing to move, left panting as fire enclosed him, lapped over his face with lazy swipes of its tongue. His body was useless, unable to struggle, at the mercy of the inferno that crackled over his skin. He panicked, unable to calm himself, and couldn’t stop his horrible pants of fear that sucked in huge lungfuls of smoke. He couldn’t see to reach for anything to pull himself free of the heavy weight that held him and ignited his body in heat suffocating smothering heat. Flames seared his airways with white embers and he was going to die, he was going to burn, no no no—
The soft thud of a door slipping closed woke Oryn with a harsh intake of smokeless air. He cracked his gritty eyes open and his desperate hands clutched at his blankets. His eyes, unaccustomed to the light, were assaulted by a bright lantern that had been left in the corner. He whimpered in instinctive fear, withdrawing from the fire. His skin was still alight with the searing heat of the fire from his dream. Slick drips ran down his forehead, pooling in the hollow of his throat. The image of his skin sloughing off in the heat and pooling around his bones danced in front of his eyes but, other than the lantern, there was no flames in sight. Nothing devouring his flesh.
Where? Where was he?
Oryn held back a weak gasp as his sore muscles strained to turn his head and take in the rest of the room. He flinched when a soaked rag flumped onto the pillow next to his face--the movement sending a sharp bolt through his neck. Eyes swimming, Oryn swallowed back nausea until the room finally settled into fuzzy detail.
Heavy wooden blinds kept the obvious moonlight from reaching into what was clearly a study, filled with papers, specimen jars, and other baubles. He had not been in this room before, but it was not outside of Soren’s scope to want to run an experiment with his notes or tools nearby.
The tools glimmered in the moon and fire light, sending sparks across the room to ignite the walls and play with the dripping shadows. Dread heaved it way up through Oryn's gut and he watched in transfixed terror as the sparks grew into a grin. White, pupil-less eyes looked down on him from the ceiling and he shrank back into the mattress. He can't, he doesn't want to, no more--he panted at the burgeoning panic rising in his chest.
He raised his arms to defend his face and blinked in sudden confused realization. He looked down. He was alone and he wasn't chained down. The metal cuffs were still around his wrists, cutting him off from his magic, but he wasn’t chained down. The scabs and sores from his struggles had been bound with tight bandages underneath the cuffs. Thin splits were wedged into the bandages to keep the broken bones of his wrists straight. But he wasn’t chained down.
Looking back to the ceiling, the monster that had appeared was gone but the lingering shadow of terror drove him to action.
He had to get away.
Oryn struggled with the blankets tucked around him. His hands trembled as he pushed at them, fingers clumsy and lacking their usual dexterity. A throaty groan poured from his mouth as he managed to pry his torso from the bed. Pain was building like the burgeoning cascade of water behind a beaver dam, held back only by a thin barrier of drugs and terror. A violent shiver wrench through him as the blankets slipped from his fever hot skin. Echoing cracks sprinkled through, pain starting to hiss through his frame.
He set his teeth and tried to drag himself upright but he gagged at the onrush of pain, barely managing to hunch forward. His head became a heavy, unwieldy weight on his neck and it pulsed in time with his heart beat. Vision spiraling, he tipped forward with a quiet moan. Oryn fell with a heavy thud to the floor, unable to stop himself, his legs tangled in the bedding. Sharp, splintering agony erupted from his broken bones as he connected with the stone floor, white flashing across his vision. A scream fluttered behind his clenched teeth as a wet slick slide poured down his side from popped and snapped stitches.
He panted, wet and small. Unable to pull in a deep enough breath. The barely conscious Fae felt more than heard the thundering boots that rushed toward the room. Oryn was unsurprised to find tears falling down his hot cheeks as he gasped and scrabbled at the stone floor. He didn’t fight the childish need to worm his way under the cot, seeking any kind of safety, before the door slammed open with resounding bang as it bounced off of the opposite wall.
A pair of scuffed boots were all that Oryn could see from his vantage point on the floor. It was pointless to hide, there was a trail of bedding that led to his hiding place, but he couldn’t suppress the curling of his body around the blanket he had accidentally drug under with him. Trying to make himself smaller. Less of a target.
A heavy knee dropped to the floor in front of Oryn’s shelter accompanied by a gray, wrinkled face with deep set brown eyes that peered under the cot. The stranger’s concern was illuminated by a stray beam of light from the lantern. “Oh lad,” the rough voice whispered, “what have you done to yourself?”
Oryn’s pitiful growl sounded like a mewl even to his own ears. He pressed his back against the cold wall, giving himself mere inches of distance from the stranger. The narrow cot was not deep enough to keep the strong hands that gripped the side of it from reaching him, and he wheezed with fright.
“I know you feel safer under there, little pup,” the older man tried to soothe, “but I think you have opened your stitches.” He didn’t reach for him, but held his gnarled palm out.
Oryn flinched and drew his blood-tacky hands further away, pressing at his stomach to stem the bleeding. He grunted, turning his face away to the cool stone. Shivering violently, his gut sank as his eyes arrested on dark wiggling lines on the floor. Fear crawled up his spine. He snarled, showing sharp teeth when those shadows became reaching claws.
“What are you seeing, lad?” the man questioned.
Fevered, yellow eyes snapped over to the one speaking, and he shuddered. Shadows ate away the stranger's face, leaving it gaunt and misshapen. The shadows would eat everything, everyone, taking it from the Mother’s embrace. He couldn’t do anything, he was powerless, weak. He was already cut off from Celüne's power, he could not be taken by their corruption too.
Oryn squeezed his eyes shut and he shook his head. His ribs ached. “Mi’hael naught," (Don't touch me) he wept, sudden sobs tearing from his throat, "n’ya triske, Celüne, därog pæl.” (I don't want to, Celüne, please (emphatic)) The sæthe spilled from his lips in a fervent prayer, and he sniffled through his tears.
"I don't understand, lad," the voice murmured to him, trying to soothe. "You have to come out of there, pup, you're burning up with fever."
He didn't understand. He didn't want to be burned up. He didn't want to be corrupted. He wanted to be left alone.
A wail forced its way through Oryn's teeth when a dry hand brushed against his bare shoulder and he jerked away. "Naught," (Don’t) he pleaded, "naught! Mi'zenÿa salleine!" (don't! Leave me alone!) He flailed under the bed, "Celüne, mi'cuita!," (Celüne, help me) he gasped beseechingly, eyes still squeezed shut. Panic raced through his chest. Panic and pain. He coughed and a lance stabbed through his ribs--forcing the air from his lungs. He cried out, gasping for air.
A curse from the man, and he called out, "EMRIK! Get in here!" The hands returned to his body, and he thrashed to keep them away. The cot thunked as the wooden frame knocked into the wall, "Fuck, lad, I am not going to hurt you! Be still!"
"Galen?! What's wrong?!" A young voice interrupted the coarse cursing of the man trying to wrangle Oryn, and he opened his eyes to see tiny boots run into the room.
"His fever is spiking. I think he’s hurt himself. Help me calm him. I don't know what he's saying."
A silvery silvan face dropped into view beside the now normal wrinkled one. Shimmering blue eyes met Oryn’s panicked yellow, and the Fae hissed with his remaining air at the lesser seelie when he raised a hand toward him.
"Naught-ila råné," (Literally-- "We don’t hurt") the silvan murmured in a harsh accent, jumbling and forgetting syllables.
Oryn startled at the sæthe, eyes growing wide as he panted air through a reed.
"Please," he continued, and Oryn watched his fingers knot a spell, a dyät, for calming but didn't release it, waiting. "Triske-ila—damnit—we want to - to- cuita, that’s it!—triske-ila cuita.” (We want to help)
The Fae continued to struggle against the hands that were trying to drag him from under the cot by his shoulders, movements becoming uncoordinated and jerky. “N’ya regrovat-il,” (I don't believe you) he panted between tiny gasps of air. His chest was screaming like a banshee, impossible to ignore, making his hands feel numb.
A concerned frown creased the young seelie‘s unlined face. “Let him go, Galen,” the silvan murmured. “Just for a second.”
Galen looked at the silvan with worry, "We have to get him out from under there," he said, but removed his hands. Holding them at the ready as he backed away.
The injured Fae trembled and used the last of his remaining feeble strength to pull his arms back to his chest. His throat was raw, and he couldn't get enough air. He writhed under the cot, pressing at the pain in his chest. He whined, everything hurt, tears cascaded down his hot cheeks and he curled in on himself. "Celüne," he implored, his voice wet and breathy.
“Galen, open the blinds,” Emrik whispered urgently, and the human moved with creaking agility to do as the silvan asked. “El-aith, look.” (She is here)
Oryn’s heart clenched as the blinds were drawn away from the windows to allow moonlight to spill across the floor. Gentle light reached through the room and without thinking he moved his hand forward to meet it. He sobbed, thin reedy noises of his lungs barely able to bring in air.
A sound of skin on stone, and Oryn saw the silvan reaching for him again, the delicate bird-like bones standing out in the moonlight. “Mi’regrovat,” (believe me) he said.
His bloody hand didn’t twitch away from the dyät knot that Emrik showed him this time, allowing the warm feeling of comfort to envelope him. Eyelids fluttering, Oryn's body relaxed into the stone of the floor. The pain wasn't less but the overwhelming panic that surged through him had faded to a low thrum in the back of his mind.
The silvan slumped as the magic ran from himself to Oryn. The Fae watched through cloudy eyes as Galen caught his shoulders before the lesser seelie face planted and deftly moved him out of the way.
They turned to face Oryn, and he felt a buzz of fear push at the dyät knot, "Easy, it's okay," Emrik murmured, sending a note of peace. He brushed Oryn's hair back from his forehead before leveraging his arm under the dark head. "Galen, get his legs."
Galen moved in synchronization with the silvan, drawing his limp body out from under the cot with gentle hands. They settled him on the floor, stretched out on his back, and Oryn wheezed at the strain on his chest. "I know, pup, I know," Galen murmured, his hands prodding at his ribs. "There's no movement on this side," he said to Emrik. Oryn felt the slide of a hand on his side and saw the old mans face turn dark, "fuck, that's air. Grab my bag from that table."
Oryn drifted as the two others worked around him, the dyät knot keeping him limp and malleable. He turned his face toward the windows, glassy eyes settling on the waxing moon. He struggled to breathe still but the lingering panic from the shortness of breath had been shuttered away.
His caretakers jostled him, moving his arm to the side, and he moaned softly when pain rolled down his body. He shuddered and reached out instinctively, finding the sleeve of the silvan. The silvery face appeared over his own and grabbed his cheeks. "I need you to listen to me," Emrik said, "this will hurt but it has to be done, okay?"
The lack of understanding must have shown on his face because he grabbed Oryn's left hand and held it tightly, up and away from his chest and placed his other hand on his shoulder, holding him down. Creases appeared at the corners of Emrik’s eyes, and he sent a wave of comfort through the dyät. "Now, Galen," he ordered.
Oryn cried out when something popped into his side, between his ribs, and he tried to arch away. The tiny silvan held fast, using his weight to keep him from moving. Panic surged and broke through the dyät when Oryn felt something move inside of him. This hurt, it hurt it hurt make it stop, he couldn’t breathe and this hurt. He opened his mouth, trying to shove air down his throat and heard a wild croak erupt from his lips. "Därog! St--Stagni!" (Please! Stop!)
They said that they didn't want to hurt him. He didn't understand. Why? He shook his head, desperate, and clawed at the dyät, feeling it shred and weaken in places.
Emrik grunted at the attack, "Hurry!"
"Almost," Galen said to himself, with the metallic clink of a metal tool being thrown away.
With a last jolt of pain, the huge weight that had settled on Oryn's lungs was removed. Air, blessed air, filled his chest and the wave of oxygen sent a high through him. He threw his head back, taking as big of gulps as his broken ribs would allow. His body sank into the relief of being able to breathe—muscles spasming with exhaustion and fatigue. A low overwhelmed moan rumbled in his throat. He hovered at unconsciousness, feeling his heartbeat in every injury.
“That’s it, breathe.” He heard a great sigh and a hand rested on his breast bone, his skin sliding under a calloused palm. “Breathe, pup.”
Emrik released Oryn's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze to his hand as the Fae settled. The silvan slumped back with a slight thump on the floor. "Fuck," he muttered, "That was, uh, what the fuck."
"Are you alright?," Galen asked.
"Yes," Emrik murmured, "that, shit, that took more than I thought it would."
“You sure?” the human asked as he continued his work at Oryn’s side, the clink of bottles and rustling of cloth.
“Hmph,” a dismissive noise, “let me go get the water and miscallum while you finish.”
Oryn allowed himself to float between consciousness when the silvan left the room, listening to the quiet humming that the human started. It was a lullaby, the simple melody soothing on the coarse vocal cords. Exhaustion coated every fiber that made him, and he could feel the heat of fever on his cheeks as it flared. Small sparks of pain rose from his side where the old man's hands remained, but they weren't enough to draw him back.
He stirred a time later when he was moved by hands under his shoulders and knees. His eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, “Nuh…”
“Just getting you back in the bed, lad,” a voice murmured into his hair. He whimpered at how his bones ground together at the movement, but they settled him quickly, wrapping him in warm blankets. He shivered when a cold weight was placed on his forehead and tried to turn away.
"I know, I know it feels cold-" fingers pushed through his hair, "-but your fever needs to come down."
A whisper, "This should help him get to sleep."
Oryn flinched when something pricked the soft skin of his inner elbow but the hand didn't leave his hair, rubbing at his scalp with soothing circles.
His caretakers murmured between themselves, and Oryn allowed the black tide of sleep to take him under.
