This was not what Hwoarang had expected.
He’d responded quickly to the unusual text, what with the area not being far from where he was staying that night, but he hadn’t been prepared to see Artemus in such a state; on the floor with bloodied teeth and an arm twisted grotesquely out of place.
Nonetheless, Hwoarang approached him swiftly, without hesitation. Artemus reached for him when he was within range. Having Artemus talk to him was usually a novelty that Hwoarang would scarcely pass up; but the brush of the blonde’s hand over his forearm and the words that reverberated through his head soon after sent cold terror lancing through Hwoarang’s bones.
A dead body? But, why - ?
Hwoarang’s mind shut down the implications momentarily; Artemus was struggling to rise, and that was a welcome distraction. Hwoarang lowered himself, ducked under the blond’s right arm and let the limb fall around his shoulders. Support in place, he rose slowly, aiming not to cause Artemus any extra agony.
It was in the middle of this motion that Hwoarang’s mind snapped back to what Artemus had told him. Against his better judgement, and to whet his misplaced curiosity, Hwoarang looked around for the aforementioned corpse.
He soon wished he hadn’t.
“What the fuck, Artie?” Hwoarang’s voice was hoarse and disbelieving. “Did you - ?” He averted his eyes, and his tongue flicked over his lips in a visual show of repulsion and fear. “What the fuck?”
No. This was no time to lose his nerve. Hwoarang took a steadying breath, then looked sidelong at Artemus. He’d find out the specifics later; the priority needed to be getting Artemus’ to someone who could fix him up before that arm was ruined beyond repair.
Hwoarang spoke again. His voice was clearer, but the undertone of it carried an unfamiliar quiver.
“Look, man, I don’t like hospitals, but that arm of yours is fucked. We gotta get you to someone who can do somethin’ with that.”
The sound came from slightly parted lips, still smiling slightly in faint amusement. Hwoarang’s near-hysteria shouldn’t have been funny, but in the wake of Artemus’ ordeal, some of his more unstable traits had resurfaced. He should have been bothered that he had been forced to kill someone, and on some level he was. Artemus didn’t like fighting, but he did what he had to. The body had not been human anymore, not really. Brows furrowed a little at the mention of the hospital and he shook his head.
No. The thought was sharp, almost hysterical. The usually calm tone of voice that came from Artemus’ telepathic connection was absent. It was strained, disjointed because of the distracting pain. Trust me. It’s okay. I’ll be fine, swear. Just need’a get it. Place it-- Set it--set it. Sorry, thinking’s not right.
His usual high pain tolerance was partially due to the Eternity Spirit, but he had expended more than a little energy. He’d been worse off before he contacted Hwoarang. Life threatening wounds meant the Spirit would mend that as quickly as possible, but once he was in the clear, Artemus was on his own for a while. At least until he could rest.
Need’a get home. Explain later. Don’t worry, had to do it. Had to. Artemus stopped that train of thought, realizing how close to shell shocked it sounded. Thanks for coming.
