Merry Whump Of May - Day 4

MEDIWHUMP MAY PROMPTS

Mediwhump May. It's dirty medicine.

Welcome to Mediwhump May. 31 days, 31 prompts. The only limit is your imagination.

Don't forget to tag @mediwhumpmay and use your tags #mediwhumpmay

IV /Cannula

Stitches

Seizure

Pain

No Response

Needlephobic

First Night in Hospital

Scared of Blood

Oxygen

Short of Breath

Withdrawal

"Just one more sip."

Surgery

Loss of Consciousness

Nausea / Vomiting

Dizzy

"Stay awake for me."

Stabbing

Emergency Room

Breakdown

Field Medicine

Doctor Becomes the Patient

Bleeding Out

"We've got you now." / "You're safe."

Shaking

Sedation

Car Crash

No Screaming

Head Injury

Choke

Ambulance Ride

Bonus / Alternative Prompts

No Pain relief

Infection

Poisoning

Broken Bones

Teeth

Mediwhump May - Day 6

"Needlephobic"

(Mystery Men - 1999)

@mediwhumpmay

“What was he wearing?” Roy limped over to the curb, Eddie guiding him by the arm.

“Shingles.” Eddie grunted as they sat down together.

Jeff shielded his eyes from the flashing blue and red lights across the street. “He had fashioned them into some kind of armor. My forks were nearly useless.”

Roy grimaced as he stretched out his leg.

“You got him eventually, right in the ass.” Eddie added. 

“True.” Jeff sighed as he counted his leftover ammunition. “He deserved it. Especially for the nails. Why does one decide to use a nail gun when interrupting a performance of Shakespeare in the Skate Park?”

“Roofing.” Roy grasped the long nail embedded in the meat of his inner thigh and pulled. It slid free, painfully, covered in blood. Roy let out a long whine and held back a sob. “His theme is roofing.” He rasped. 

“Oh.” Eddie nodded. “The shingles, the nail gun, the-”

“The rebellion against roofless theater productions?” Jeff finished. 

“So weird.” Roy sighed. “But dedicated.”

Eddie caught sight of the bloody nail that Roy held. “Oh no, Roy, you should have let the medics take that out.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Roy waved him off. “I’ve had worse. Besides, they’re busy with Mercutio.”

“I suppose-” Eddie cut himself off. “Oh come on, Roy, you’ve got one in your hand!” He grabbed Roy’s wrist and held it up.

The long nail had flown through Roy’s palm and the tip poked through the back of his hand. It wasn’t bleeding much, but that was because the nail was plugging the hole. 

Jeff frowned. “How many did he get you with, Roy?”

“I dunno.” Roy shrugged. He was tired and sore and thinking was hard. “ A few.”

“A few?” Eddie stood up. “How do you not know? Hang on, let’s do a count. I can’t believe I have to do this for you.”

“I can believe it.” Jeff stood up too. 

“Going to need a metal detector.”

“Come on, guys. I just wanna go home.” Roy whined. 

“Okay, so one in the hand.” Eddie ignored him and began to circle, looking for other nails. “One in the boot. Ouch, straight through your foot.” “Yeah, I was nailed to the stage for a minute.” Roy laughed weakly.

Jeff laughed as well then quickly stopped. “The one from his thigh.”

“Three so far.” Eddie nodded. 

“I think that’s it.” Roy grumbled.

“Let’s at least get you checked out.” Eddie offered his hand to help Roy up from the curb. “Also when was the last time you got your tetanus shot?”

“My what?”

Eddie looked over at Jeff, who nodded silently.

“Let’s go to the clinic.”

“Aw, man.” Roy whined.

Ten minutes later, they piled out of Eddie’s car and into the 24-hour clinic. It was quiet around midnight so the wait was pretty short. A nurse took Roy back, and Eddie and Jeff stayed in the waiting room. 

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Eddie asked Jeff, flipping through a sticky magazine.

“Oh.” Jeff thought for a moment. “Five minutes.” He answered.

“How about ten?”

“You’re on. I’ll watch the clock.”

Four minutes later, the nurse reappeared. 

Jeff stood up. “You owe me dinner.”

The nurse walked over. “Would either of you be able to accompany your friend? He’s…” She searched for a word. “Agitated.”

Eddie stood too. “We’ll both come back.”

The nurse led them back to the examination room. Roy immediately tried to leave as soon as she opened the door. 

“Eddie, I’m fine. Let’s leave. Get me out of here.” Roy spoke quickly in a low mutter. “Come on, Jeff, let’s go, let’s go.”

“Whoa, there.” Eddie gently corralled Roy back in, like a spooked horse. “They’re just going to give you a little check-up, Roy.”

“And a shot!” Roy’s voice almost squeaked. “I don’t-... I don’t like…” “Don’t like needles.” Eddie finished. 

Roy sat back down on the exam table, pale and sweating. “Yeah.” He whispered. 

“We know, that’s why we’re here.” Eddie reassured. “It’ll be really quick. You don’t want tetanus, right?”

“Lock-jaw, Roy.” Jeff chimed in, seating himself in a nearby chair. 

“That actually sounds better than the shot.” Roy said.

“You won’t even feel it.” Eddie said. “Besides, you’ve been stabbed before, Roy, how are you scared of needles?”

“I dunno. I’d rather be stabbed. Can they do that? Use a knife? For the shot?” Roy looked around. “Or a scalpel. Anything but…” He trailed off. 

“You know.” Jeff tapped his chin in thought. “This reminds me of the time we saved the blood drive nurses from the Blood Bandits and you lost so much blood that they just strapped you in the chair to give you blood with that absolutely enormous needle-”

“Okay, okay.” Roy hopped off the table. “I’m leaving.”

“I can’t let you do that, Roy.” Eddie stood in his way. “As your friend, I am going to make sure you get this shot.”

Roy laughed, pretended to back off, then feinted to the left, and made a dash to the right. He tried to get to the door. But he was full of nails and too slow. 

Eddie grabbed him. Jeff stood in front of the door. 

And then the doctor walked in. 

“What have we here?” She asked. 

All three of them stopped struggling. 

“Nothing.” Roy straightened his coat. 

“Nothing.” Eddie let go of Roy.

“Nothing.” Jeff picked up a fork he’d dropped. 

“I see.” The doctor put down her clipboard. “Well, which one of you is Roy?”

Jeff pointed at Roy.

“Thanks, man.” Roy sighed. 

“I will take a bullet for you, Roy, but not a shot”

The doctor sighed. “So Roy, you had an accident with a…” She turned a page. “Nail?”

“Nail gun.” Eddie corrected. 

“Okay, and how many nails?” “Three.” Roy sighed.

“We think.” Jeff added. 

“You think?” The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure.” Eddie admitted.

“Uh-huh.” The doctor paused for a moment, looked over each of them, then proceeded. “Well, let’s get those nails out, Roy. Then we’ll go from there.”

Roy nodded, almost green.

The doctor and an assistant bandaged the thigh wound and extracted the nail from Roy’s foot. The hand was last. Slowly, carefully, the doctor took the nail out and dressed the wound. She kept up a conversation with Roy the whole time, who was visibly relaxing. 

Once that was done, Roy sighed. “That wasn’t so bad. Could we save the-... the shot for another day.”

“No, we can’t.” The doctor answered. 

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve already done it.” The doctor stepped back. She had been blocking Roy’s line of sight of his other arm. 

The assistant was currently pulling a needle out of Roy’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Roy swayed. And fainted.

“There he goes.” Eddie sighed.

“He’s reliable.” Said Jeff.

Merry Whump of May - Day 8

“Did you read the fine print?”

Circle

Blinded

Field

(original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“It’s the only way to know what happened here.” Rex shed his jacket and tossed it on the ground. The sun beat down upon them, searing and merciless. The cicadas sang and sang. With every weak breath of wind, the grass around them sighed and fluttered. The field was empty save for Rex, Stockton, Burden, and the last survivor. 

Rex rolled up his sleeves. “Stay back, all of you, until it’s done.”

“And how will we know when it’s done?” Stockton picked up Rex’s jacket.

Rex didn’t answer and walked towards the last survivor.

Tied to a stake in the middle of the field was a young woman. Was, a young woman. She had died three days ago and laid in the hot sun until now, and it showed. Rex had tracked her down and arrived too late. Always too late. 

The last survivor rasped and stood on unsteady legs as Rex approached. He needed to know what she knew. Tears stung Rex’s eyes as he drew closer. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m really sorry. We tried. We tried.”

The last survivor’s skin was bloated and dark with pooled blood. Where there were once eyes, dark, crusted sockets stared out at Rex. Rex looked up and saw the vultures responsible still circling overhead. Every so often, one flew close enough to noonday sun to blot it out. A shadow covering the field. Ragged and brief. 

Rex knelt as close as he dared. 

He had searched the minds of humans before and had become good at it. It was easy to read people, to open up their minds and read their innermost thoughts. But reading the dead? Something about it turned his stomach. It wasn’t the putrid flesh before him, or clicking teeth, but the act of uniting his mind with the dead.

Rex hadn’t told Stockton or Burden, but he wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t kill him. 

But he had promised to try. This last survivor, survivor no more, had known something important to their cause. And he owed it to her to try. He had to try.

Rex took the dead woman’s face in his hands and gently pushed the limp hair away from her sightless eyes. She tried to bite him. The bloody foam that oozed from her mouth and nose ran over his fingers, lukewarm and slimy. The stake and her bound arms held her back. Rex closed his eyes. The sun was harsh above and behind his eyelids he saw only red.

The last survivor rasped and gurgled. 

Rex took a deep breath. He began to read.

A moment. 

He began to scream.

The ground vibrated, shuddering and shaking. Waves in the field. A flock of birds flee, black dots against the pale, hot sky. The grass around Rex and the last survivor begins to die. It shriveled. It turned black. A circle of rotting darkness. Then, nothing. Only death.

Rex felt someone stroking his hair.

“You’re safe.” It was Burden’s voice. And Burden’s hand.

The rotting smell of the corpse still lingered in Rex’s senses, but Burden’s scent was chasing it away. 

Rex shifted a little. His muscles ached and his limbs shook with the effort. His head was resting on someone’s lap. Probably Burden.

“You’re safe?” Rex rasped. His throat was dry and sticky. He coughed.

“Yeah. Stocky’s getting you water. Hang on.”

Rex opened his eyes and saw nothing.

His heart clenched. 

Rex closed his eyes again, braced himself, and opened them. Nothing.

“Uh, Burden?” Rex reached out towards the hand in his hair. He gripped Burden’s rough, calloused fingers. 

“Yeah?”

“I can't see.”

Rex felt Burden become still and tense. Then Burden squeezed Rex’s hand.

A sigh. “Did you not read the fine print on those powers you got?”

Rex’s laugh was shaky. He felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye and trail down his cheek, pooling in his ear. “No, not really. Didn’t come with a manual, you know?”

“It'll come back.”

“Maybe. But I got the information. She saw where they went.” Rex didn’t think too hard about what he had seen when reading the dead woman. He had gotten what they needed and that was that.

Burden pulled Rex a little closer. “You shouldn’t have done this.” Burden spoke into Rex’s hair, his breath warm on Rex’s scalp.

Rex closed his eyes. He didn’t need them open.

Whumpay - Day 10

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Panic Attack Mini Challenge 10 - Dialogue - “You look awful.” Original Work - (No title yet)

Kemp knocked softly on the apartment door then leaned his head on it. It was cool. And he was hot. And sweating. And so very tired. The door wasn’t opening. Cyril wasn’t opening the door.

Kemp swallowed hard and knocked again. He waited even longer this time. Still nothing. His heart rate ramped up and he felt his hands and feet grow cold. His stomach lurched.

Kemp tried the knock they had agreed on one more time. He waited and waited and waited. Nothing.

The edges of Kemp’s vision grew blurry and cloudy. He reeled back and kicked the door. Once. Twice. It banged open, the wood around the bolt cracked and splintered. Kemp’s hand went for the gun at his side: the gun that wasn’t there. Shit. He pulled the knife from his boot instead.

Kemp checked the living room. “Cyril!”

Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes. He was so hot and freezing at the same time.

Kemp checked the kitchen. The kettle was on and boiling. “Cyril!” He tried to breathe but all he could do was gasp. His heart raced. As Kemp paced into the bedroom, knife ready, the floor tilted sideways and he had to lean on the wall to stay upright.

The shower was running. It sounded like a waterfall. So loud.

“Cyril?!”

“What?”

Kemp turned.

Cyril was there. Coming out of the bathroom. Towel around his waist. And safe.

Cyril was safe.

Kemp dropped the knife. The carpet came up to meet him. Kemp felt like he was dying. Why was he dying? Why couldn’t he breathe?

Cyril was saying something but Kemp couldn’t hear him.

Kemp opened his eyes.

When had his eyes closed?

He was on his side, his head resting on something soft. Someone was stroking his hair. His cheek throbbed.

“Are you with me?” Cyril asked, his voice coming from above.

Kemp turned his head a little. He was resting on Cyril’s lap while Cyril ran his fingers through his hair. The shower was still running.

“Yeah.” Kemp whispered. “I’m with you.”

“Good.” Cyril leaned down and kissed Kemp’s forehead.

That was new. Fainting was new too. But kisses especially so.

“You look awful.” Cyril smiled down at him.

“Can’t imagine why.” Kemp tried to sit up but the world tilted again.

Cyril eased him back down to the floor and kept his head in his lap. “Careful there. You had a panic attack maybe. Give it a minute.”

“Don’t have panic attacks.”

“Well, you do now. What happened? Why were you looking for me?”

“Didn’t answer the knock.” Kemp closed his eyes. The towel was thin about Cyril’s thighs and his body heat was soothing. “Thought something happened.”

“You had a panic attack over me?” Kemp could hear the smile in Cyril’s voice.

“It’s not funny.” Kemp grumbled.

“I’m not laughing.” Kemp felt Cyril’s breath as he leaned down over Kemp’s ear and kissed his hair.

Kemp turned his head. And met Cyril’s lips with his own.

“You are laughing at me.” Kemp breathed into Cyril’s mouth.

“Never.” Cyril whispered, and kissed him again.

Merry Whump of May - Day 3

(Mystery Men - 1999)

@themerrywhumpofmay

Roy ducked into the bathroom, flung on the cold tap and splashed water on his face. It stung. Lukewarm and stale. Blood dripped into the grimy porcelain sink. Roy drank from the faucet and spat out pink water. He caught sight of his reflection in the smudged mirror. The lightbulb above flickered and blinked. He touched his cheek and winced. 

That would be a black eye tomorrow. 

The lightbulb flickered out and the bathroom went dark. 

“Ah, man.” Roy sighed, reached up, and unscrewed the dead bulb.

Bulb in hand, he pushed back out into the bar.

“Come on, Roy, chip in.” Eddie said as he counted cash out on the bar. Jeff was adding coins to the mix. The bartender was standing behind the bar, looming over them, arms crossed.

“What’s all this?” Roy slipped the dead bulb in his jacket pocket. He would tell the bartender about it in a minute.

Jeff looked back, nose crusted in blood. “We are paying the gentlemen for the damages done to his establishment in the scuffle.”

They happened to be walking by half an hour ago when they heard screaming coming from the bar. Turned out that five or so guys were robbing the place. Of course they had to step in. And it had gone the way it usually did. Badly.

But that’s what superheroes did. They tried. 

“Damages?” Roy sidled up and stuffed his hands into his jeans pocket for his wallet. “What damages? We got the guys, didn’t we?”

“Well…” Eddie started and trailed off as the bartender strode around the bar.

“Broken window?” The bartender pointed to one of the large front windows, shattered glass lying all around on the floor.

Roy frowned. He was tired, and dizzy, and sat down on a barstool. “When did that even happen?” 

“Two of them threw you through it, Roy.” Eddie supplied.

Roy nodded, then stopped, because his head hurt too much for that much movement. “Right, right.”

“Tables and chairs.” The bartender continued. HIs shouting was painfully loud. 

A table or two leaned on broken legs and a few chairs lay in pieces. 

Roy did remember falling into those. So did his back and ribs.

“And the upholstery!” The bartender pointed at one of the booths, the red leather pierced with several forks.

“That was him.” Roy pointed at Jeff. “He’s the fork guy.” “Thanks, Roy.” Jeff rolled his eyes and shoved his change across the bar. “Pay up already.”

Roy opened his sad, deflated wallet and pulled out his last few ones. “All I got.” And slapped it on the bar. “I’m going.”

And now he had no more money until payday. Great. Just great. He moved towards the door to the outside, limping a little. His knee was swollen and stiff.

The bartender blocked his path. “Uh-uh, oh no, look at this place. That isn’t nearly enough!”

Roy stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, one hand found the dead lightbulb. His fingers wrapped around it as the bartender continued to shout.

Roy nodded a little. “I understand. I can come back tomorrow and help clean-”

He was cut off. The bartender continued to point out every bit of damage, a finger jabbed into Roy’s sore shoulder.

Roy lowered his eyes. He grit his teeth. Breathe in. His head pounded. Breathe out. His heart raced. Felt the blood leave his face. He balled his hands into fists. Pushed past the guy.

Stumbled into the alleyway. Trying to breathe. Trying to stay standing.

Rouy staggered as far as he could go and leaned against the cool, brick wall.

Finally his ears stopped ringing. Someone was talking to him. 

Roy looked up. 

“Roy, you okay?”

Eddie and Jeff stood there, Eddie’s hand on his shoulder.

“We did break quite a lot of things, but he was quite unpleasant to you, Roy. Don’t let it get to you.” Jeff was trying to scratch away the blood from his nose.

Roy just focused on breathing.

“You’re not looking so hot.” Eddie sighed. “Are you hurt?”

“A bit.” Roy panted. “Maybe. Not really. No. I’m fine. I just- You know. Yelling. I’m fine. I think I’m gonna go-” He took his hands out of his jacket pockets.

“Jesus, Roy!” Eddie exclaimed. “Oh boy, do we need to get something on that. Jeff, you got any gauze left?”

“What’s wrong?” Roy blinked slowly.

Jeff did a double-take. “Oh my lord. I’m going to be-” He retched a little. “How did you do that?”

“What?” Roy was getting annoyed now.

“Your hand.” Eddie gripped his wrist. “Don’t touch anything.”

Roy looked down at his hand.

The lightbulb.

He had gripped it so hard that it burst. Exploding into his palm and fingers. His whole right hand was covered in blood and glass splinters. Funny. He couldn’t even feel it. 

Blood pattered down onto the gravel of the alleyway. “Hospital.” Eddie ordered.

“Hospital.” Jeff gagged. 

“Ah, man.” Roy fainted.

Merry Whump of May - Day 1

(The Man From U.N.C.L.E. 2015)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“You should not be here.”

This was the first thing that Solo said to Illya in two weeks.

“Too bad.” Illya whispered and finished uncuffing Solo from the metal chair. The dim bulb above made it hard to parse Solo’s expression, as did the bruises. 

“You should have left.” Solo stood slowly, arm wrapped around his chest. He leaned over and spat dark blood on the floor before speaking again. “Why didn’t they bring you in?”

Illya jerked his head towards the door, holding out a pistol.

Solo took it.

Illya took the lead and left the room. “They tried.”

He heard Solo wheeze out a laugh softly behind him.

They finally got outside and Illya led the way to the first car he spotted, halfway down the street from the warehouse. It was unlocked. But no keys. 

While Illya hotwired the vehicle, Solo eased himself into the passenger seat, groaning in pain.

The engine rumbled into life.

Illya slammed the door closed and caught sight of Solo’s face. His head was back against the headrest and his brows were furrowed. The harsh light of day brought the bruises into sharp relief. Yellowing greenish contusions that were healing. And darker, reddish purple for newer ones. 

Illya gripped the steering wheel hard and set his foot against the gas. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good.”

They sped off into the sunset.

An hour later, sun down and surrounded by dark trees, Illya pulled the car to the side of the road.

“We have arrived at milepost-” Illya turned and noticed his companion was asleep. “Solo.”

No answer.

Illya reached out and just barely touched his shoulder when Solo gasped awake. He pressed as far away from Illya as the car door would allow.

“Solo.” Illya retracted his hand and filed that reaction away for later. 

“Y-yes.” Solo relaxed a little. “What?”

“We have arrived at milepost 8. This is where we start walking.”

Solo sighed. “That sounds like the last thing I want to do.” His voice was hoarse.

Illya left the car and circled around to Solo’s door and opened it. “Too bad.”

Solo unfolded himself gingerly from the car. “Where-” He stopped to breathe. “Are we going?”

“Remote cabin.” Illya retrieved two bags from the side of the road from underneath some bushes, damp with dusk dew.

Solo limped over and took the map, compass, and bag Illya held out to him. “How remote?”

“We will arrive by dawn if we make good time.”

Solo swore, coughed, and swore again as he slung the bag over his shoulders. 

Illya paused for a moment and looked his partner up and down.

“What?” Solo asked. Hunched over. Already panting. 

“Can you?”

“Can I what?”

“Make good time?”

Solo straightened up immediately. Even in the darkness of night, Illya could see his jaw was set. Eyes gleaming.

“No pain, no gain.” Solo grated out. 

“That does not make any sense. Follow me.” Illya led the way into the dark trees.

A few hours later, Illya stopped and waited for Solo to catch up. “Water.”

Panting, Solo nodded.

They both drank from the canteens in the bags and caught their breath. The forest was thick with trees and brush and the hillsides were steep with slippery pine needles and rocks. It was slow going. Slower than Illya had hoped. But it could not be helped. 

He watched his partner take out the map and compass. 

“Flashlight?” Solo wheezed.

Illya stepped over and flicked on his flashlight.

Solo took a small step back, map shaking in his hands.

“Th-this is the location?” He pointed at a small pen mark in the middle of the map.

Illya stopped where he was. “Yes.”

“Right.” Solo sighed, held the compass into the flashlight’s beam, turned a pace or two to the right. “We need to be going this way.”

“We should take a break.” Illya did not want to push Solo too hard. The way he was favoring his chest suggested a broken rib. Or more. And that could not be all. The point of rescuing Solo was not to kill him in the process. 

“Sit down.” Illya urged his partner.

“No.” Solo pocketed the compass and map again. “Sorry, but if I do that, I won’t get up again. We keep moving. Unless, you need a break?”

It was dark but Illya could hear a little smile in Solo’s last words. At least he felt well enough to needle Illya. 

“We keep moving.” Illya agreed. 

The first tatters of dawn were showing when they reached the cabin. They were cold and damp from a mist that had settled into hills. Feet wet from fording a few streams. They trudged inside. It was bare bones. Cool and musty. A fireplace. A table. Kitchen sink. Bed in the corner. 

“This is honestly worse than the warehouse.” Solo drawled, panting. He dropped his bag to the creaking wooden floor planks.

“Be grateful.” Illya sniffed and set down his pack on the rough table. “You are safe here.”

“Yes, safe from a hot bath.”

“There is a gas generator and well-water. This is better than most hotels.” Illya dryly said.

Solo edged closer to the kitchen windows and stripped off his jacket and damp shirt slowly and painfully.

Illya stayed across the cabin, despite how much he wanted to help.

Finally free of the shirt, Solo let it drop to the floor and looked down at his torso. In the dim dawn light from the grimy windows, Illya could see a mess of mottled bruises, the worst of it dark like thunderclouds over Solo’s ribs.

Illya realized Solo was falling before Solo did.

A brief moment. A sway. Eyes glazed. Eyelids fluttering.

Illya strode across the cabin and caught Solo as he went down, head hanging limply. The heat coming off Solo’s body was concerning. And he was slick with sweat. 

Solo’s faint only lasted a moment.

He began to thrash in Illya’s arms, pushing away. Frantic. A rough sob tore from his throat.

“Stop.” Solo’s voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t.”

Illya did not drop Solo to the floor but lowered him as carefully as he could as Solo struggled. And then he backed away.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

Solo propped himself against the kitchen cabinets, panting, eyes wide and wet. Tears threatened to fall.

“Sorry.” Solo coughed. “I don’t-”

“It is fine.” Illya cut him off. “They beat you. I know. I am sorry.”

Solo just breathed and shook then closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“You are safe now.” Illya knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would fix this. But he tried. “You rest. I keep watch. I will keep you safe.”

A few tears hit the wood floor, soft sounds, the only sound. 

“Thanks, Peril.”

Whumpay - Day 8

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Asthma Attack Mini Challenge 7 - Dialogue - “Why are you doing this?” Original Work - Abreoðan

“Abre, this isn’t it. It isn’t here.” Steien put a hand to Abre’s shoulder, feeling the shivers running through Abre’s body. “You should rest.”

“We should go.” Gelic sighed. “It isn’t safe here.”

Abre shook his head and limped closer to the stone wall. His shaking hand raised the torch to illuminate the wall. “It has to be here.” He ignored both of them.

Steien shot a look at Gelic, who just shrugged and frowned.

They had spent a week or so out here. They had checked every cave wall meticulously. Every suspicious groove in the rock. But still, they hadn’t found the carvings that the old stories told of. Abre was so sure the carvings were here.

Steien watched his friend carefully and saw how tired he was. Steien wanted to take Abre home. To let him rest. To let him heal. But Abre was just so stubborn. Abre wanted to find those carvings so badly, it was destroying him.

“Brother.” Steien hissed.

Gelic looked over at him and rolled his eyes.

“Please?” Steien asked.

Gelic’s face softened a little and he walked over to Abre. His hand rose and rested on Abre’s back. “Abreoðan.” He said. “Let us rest for tonight.”

Abre whirled around, his face white and drenched in sweat, each droplet outlined in flame as they reflected the light of the torch. “Rest? I cannot rest!”

Abre looked ill. His blond hair hung limp around his face. He seemed to sway.

“Abre, why are you doing this? What-” Gelic tried again, but Abre cut him off.

“I must find the carvings. If I do not, more people will die. I will not let this ‘body’,” He pronounced the word ‘body’ with such disgust that Steien stepped back. “Stop me from saving them!”

“You are no use to us dead.” Steien tried to reason with him.

“I am no use to you alive!” Abre screamed.

He slammed his staff into the ground. In the dim light of the cavern, his eyes glowed blue. Like lightning.

A roar like thunder.

The ceiling burst open and descended. The torch died. Steien hit the ground hard. He tasted blood and dust. Pebbles trickled like running water. Then, silence.

“Gelic!” He coughed out. “Abre!”

“Here.” Was Gelic’s grunt. “You hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Steien gathered himself and strained to see in the dark. The pale, watery light of dark slithered in from the cave entrance a few twists and turns away. But it was barely enough to see.

Abre was coughing nearby.

“Was that a cave-in?” Steien felt around him. The cave floor was littered with rubble. His hand felt cloth. Then a foot. In the half-light, he found Abre sprawled out on the ground, covered in dust as well.

“Abre’s here.” Steien called out to Gelic. He helped Abre sit up and patted him on the back to ease his coughing. It did not help.

Gelic made his way over. “Let’s go, before the whole mountain comes down on us.”

“I agree.” Steien and Gelic helped Abre to his feet.

Abre’s coughs became thin and wheezing. Each exhale was a sick, whistling sound.

“Abre?” Gelic peered into Abre’s face, trying to see through the darkness.

“Let’s get him outside.”

Together, they half-carried, half-dragged poor Abre to the cave’s entrance. The wheezing became worse.

The daylight was painful after so much darkness. They helped Abre sit down again. Under the layer of stone dust, Abre’s lips were blue. Abre’s only hand was clenched at his robes, making a fist over his chest.

“He can’t breathe.” Gelic sounded a little frantic as he reached around Abre’s neck, looking for the cause.

“The dust.” Steien said. “It was the dust.”

“We’re out of the dust.”

Abre kept coughing. The wheezing sounded so painful. Steien’s heart ached for him.

“I know.” Steien nodded. “We’re out of the dust. But it’s still affecting him.”

Abre slid to the side and hit the ground, gasping with every difficult breath.

“Keep him upright.” Steien ordered. “Sit behind him and hold him upright!”

Gelic scrambled around behind Abre and held him from behind. He kept him sitting up in a careful embrace. Gelic pressed a small kiss to Abre’s sweaty temple when he thought Steien wasn’t looking.

Steien saw it and hid a smile.

“Let’s all breathe together.” Gelic offered. “Abre?”

Abre nodded weakly.

“Okay.” Gelic continued. “Steien, let’s do it together.”

So Gelic, Steien, and Abre worked to get Abre’s breathing under control. Gelic held him gently the whole time. Steien crouched in front of him, keeping him focused.

It took a long time. So long, that Abre fell asleep in Gelic’s arms.

After some time, Gelic whispered to Steien. “Did he do that?”

“Do what?” Steien rubbed his eyes and yawned, noticing how sunset had come upon them so quickly.

“Bring down the rocks.”

Steien thought a moment. “Yes.” He answered, though it pained him to do so.

“His powers are growing.” Gelic mused.

“I wish they weren’t.” Steien watched Abre sleep.