I wiki-ed my ass off on burns, heat stroke and dehydration. Wikipedia never lies! ...Not about that, anyway.

If it isn't clear: The stone floor of the lava caves is normally even hotter than a sidewalk at the peak of summer. The supernatural heat of dragon flame made it hotter. Thus, the owies on Albel's back.

Blood Stigma

Chapter 14: Hate

When Albel woke he thought he was still in the cave, his entire body hot but his left arm oddly numb.

He opened his eyes to see white pillow. He was lying face-down on a plain, white-sheeted bed, completely naked with nothing covering him. The room was empty save for the bed and a small desk stacked with clean cloths and a basin of water as well as a few other tools that Albel figured a healer might use. Said healer was standing on his left side, dabbing something on his arm.

There were burns on his sides and on his back, but his front and right arm were almost completely unscathed, only a bit red and slightly sore. The back of his head ached particularly, and he reached his right hand back to feel the scabs that had formed there, the hair there completely burnt away where the rest had merely been singed.

Albel shot to his knees and immediately regretted it, the lightheadedness that followed the movement nearly making him collapse on the bed again. It took him a moment of sitting there to clear his head.

It was then that Albel looked at the arm, really looked at it. His smallest finger and the one next to it were gone and the entire back of his hand was black. He couldn't feel any pain from that part at all, nor could he move his fingers or his wrist. The outer side of his arm was blackened and painless, weeping something disgusting and dark, but the inner part was blistered all over, almost white, and the entire underside ached. Smelly yellow salve was coated liberally over the entire thing and the healer was reaching into a jar on the desk for more.

For a while everything was fuzzy, disconnected. He wasn't quite sure how he had gotten there – then it fell together and Albel snapped.

"Get – the fuck – out!" Albel swung his good arm around, grabbing the woman by her collar and slamming his feet down onto the floor, walking her backwards out the door and slamming her outside before sliding the lock shut. "And stay out, bitch!"

He stood there for a while, leaning against the door and listening to the steps of the woman running down the hall, supposedly to call her superior. Albel sneered at nobody.

Just being upright made him feel dizzy, but sitting down hurt too much. He satisfied himself with continuing to lean against the door, trying to avoid looking at his left arm. Somehow he was cold and hot at the same time, the stone floors freezing his feet and the cold air biting at his skin but the burns heating him unbearably.

Soon enough he heard another set of steps and someone was banging on the door, demanding to be let in, telling him that he was severely injured and that they only wanted to help him, blah, blah, blah. Albel didn't give a shit.

"Fuck off!" Albel banged the door with his right fist before staggering back toward the bed, leaning heavily against it with his right arm, feeling the cold metal burn against his knees.

"Shit..." he willed himself not to cry but started anyway, shuddering and gasping and hating himself for it.

He sank to his knees and stayed there for a long time, listening distantly to the sounds of various people banging on the door and demanding to be let in. At one point he pulled down the thinnest sheet from the bed and pulled it gingerly around his raw and tender body as he leaned his cheek against the bed, just concentrating on trying to breathe without sobbing.

After he had finally calmed himself down, he got to his feet, restless. The pounding on the door had finally stopped. He began to pace, the concentration on the movement giving his mind some kind of outlet.

"This is wrong." Albel's voice sounded broken even to himself. "This is just so fucking wrong!" In a sudden burst of anger Albel stepped over to the desk and pulled the basin down, spilling the water all over himself and the floor. He swung his arm across the tabletop, pushing everything to the ground and then toppling the whole table but still it wasn't enough. He ripped the lone tapestry from its hooks and watched it sit at his feet. He wanted to fucking break something.

It was hard, it hurt and he felt dizzy before, during and after but he somehow managed to drag the futon off the bed and then flip over the frame.

It didn't make him any better, it only made him feel tired and childish.

"This isn't right!" Albel screamed it at the ceiling but the stone didn't give him anything back, not even a weak echo. His throat was scorched raw and it hurt to make any noise but it hurt more not to. "Fuck!" He slammed his right arm into the wall in a mimicry of what his left had done then and let loose a string of inarticulate curses at the wall as if he could blame the rock for everything that had happened, the curses covering the words that he was physically incapable of uttering – It should have been me I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die –

But even as he wanted it he couldn't, knew that he never could, couldn't shame his father's name any more than he already had, couldn't make himself out to be any more of a coward than he already was, could never go into whatever the hell happened after he died knowing that his father would turn his back on him.

Everything hurt, hurt so much that the only thing that was holding him down was the pain in his body. His head hurt and eventually he stumbled back to his previous position, picking the sheet up from the ground and kneeling on the floor when the dizziness got to be too much and his vision started to fuzz. His left arm lay slack and aching at his side; he couldn't bring himself to touch it and it hurt to move anyway.

Albel didn't know how long he was there or if he fell asleep or not, his mind a muddle and his vision blurring in and out. It might have been hours or days; it felt like weeks. He thought he might have cried again at one point but he felt no tears on his face and all that he produced was a few pathetic whimpering noises.

Albel didn't even react when they broke the door down, didn't move until a hand touched his shoulder and a voice that he might have recognized said something to him.

Energy shot through him again and he slapped the contact away with his good hand. "Fuck off and get out!" He barked.

"Albel –" The man circled to his front and grasped Albel's shoulders, trying to look into the boy's eyes.

Albel swatted the hands away again and got to his feet. "I told you to get out!" He dropped the sheet and grasped Woltar as he had the nurse, trying to drag the older man away – but his strength was gone and he let go, instead opting to throw a weak punch at the man's face. Woltar caught the fist without even trying. "You – senile old fart –" Albel tried to rush him but could only stumble and fall against the man. "Don't look at me, please, don't look at me..." The sounds that came out of his throat disgusted him in their desperation, and Albel realized that he was begging.

"Don't be so weak." There was no venom in the old man's voice, only pity.

"It doesn't even matter anymore." Silence.

"...Do you want the king to see you like this?"

Albel closed his eyes and was ashamed.