Prompt 12: Painkillers

Dynamic: Carl & Techno

Other tags: Dsmp setting, fainting, crackfic (somebody challenged me to write 'pov horse' okay

"Right." His owner petted Carl's flank, warm fingers brushing through his short, coarse fur. "I think it's about time we get home."

Throwing his head back, the horse neighed his agreement. This trip had lasted forever, despite the golden carrots he'd been given between stretches of walking to coerce him into cooperation. He was tired and wanted to return to his stable. His owner must feel the same, they were unsteady on their legs, stumbling a little when they made their way around to check if his riding harness was still fastened as it should. Carl's back was weighed down with all the materials they had gathered.

"Not today…" His owner wasn't talking to him anymore, rather some invisible person (or persons) Carl couldn't see. It didn't really matter to him. He was a horse.

A huff of laughter, his owner leaning against his side more.

"Chat, you're making a fool of me."

Carl flicked his tail and pushed back. Why was his owner not getting in the saddle?

"I guess I do have some to spare." The sound of glass bottles clinking together. "But it's really not that bad." Absently, not really paying attention, they pet his snout. Carl pushed into the palm and snorted, a warm exhale against cold skin. Too cold. Carl didn't get what was going on.

"Fine, just because you'll never shut up about it otherwise. You're terrible, all of you. And you dare call me the stubborn one."

They uncorked the bottle and drank from it. Carl turned his head to nuzzle into their chest while they consumed the potion. Were they hurt? Did they get injured without him noticing?

Carl liked his owner, who had always taken good care of him and even came to get him when a man with an ax had threatened him and locked him in a box. He wanted his owner to be okay.

But he couldn't smell blood. Nor see any wounds. Sick then? His owner had a tendency to overwork and they'd been away from the cabin for ages. The potion would help dull the pain for them.

"Happy now?" they asked, putting the bottle away again. "Let's get going then." They hoisted themselves onto his back slower than usual too, the movement a little more strained. Their feet slid into the spurs, hands gripping the reins carefully.

With a click of their tongue, Carl started walking.

Some terrain was easier to navigate, allowing him to fall into an easy run. At other places, he had to trot slowly to avoid obstacles. There were paths, but his owner often avoided those. The paths were dangerous. Other people were very dangerous.

His owner wasn't well-liked. Carl liked his owner a lot though, so it didn't much matter if others didn't.

They often spoke to the invisible thing(s) while they rode, but today they remained quiet. The reins hung slack, their hips pushed back. They were mumbling something under their breath.

Then, with a sigh, they slumped forward completely.

If it weren't for the saddle, they would have fallen off. But his owner was prepared for the chaos of combat, straps meant to specifically keep a rider from being thrown off their horse had been installed into the harness and while they often didn't bother with using them, they had today. As if they knew that them passing out while riding would be a possibility.

Carl came to a stop, hind leg tapping the ground. With them unconscious, there was no direction given to him anymore. Nobody to tell him to keep going.

But his owner was sick, they were out in the open. Carl wanted to keep them safe, like they had done for him before.

Keeping his head low, he went towards home.

Before long the earth beneath his hooves hardened, then became covered. First with a thin layer of frost, then the more powdery snow Carl was all too fond of. Sometimes his owner let him out in the meadow and he would roll around in it, getting his coat all messed up. It didn't matter, they cleaned and brushed him after. They took good care of him. Carl was just returning the favor.

There was smoke rising from the other cabin's chimney. Carl trudged into the yard, neighing loudly. He only had to do it twice before the winged man came outside. "Carl, did you escape from your paddock again?"

The man sounded tired. Last time Carl broke out, his owner wasn't home and the winged man had spent three hours chasing him around to get him back inside. It was a fun game.

But they saw that his owner was lying across his back unconscious, which made them hurry down the rest of the steps. "Techno?!"

Carl tried to bend down, even if it was hard. The winged man was shorter than his owner, and his owner barely even reached Carl's flank with their shoulders. They huffed, annoyed. "Ranboo! A little help?!"

Oh, so the odd one had been inside the house as well? They must have been spending time together. Carl bristled a bit when they came outside too, always feeling uneasy around them. The smell of blood might be gone, yet his dislike for this man lingered. But he would bear it for now, if it meant his owner would be safe. Together, they managed to undo the straps and pull them down. Between the two of them, they carried the unconscious man inside.

Carl waited, scuffing at the earth with one hoof to reveal some patches of spring green grass that had sprouted beneath the snow. He grazed on them, getting a bit annoyed at the gear still attached. It was a heavy burden. His owner usually removed it as soon as they got home.

After a few minutes, the winged man returned. They started taking the harness off. "I bet that's better," they said softly. Carl nudged them, to express his gratitude. "Don't worry, Techno's going to be alright. He just forgot the rule about not taking health potions on an empty stomach." They laughed. If they were laughing, it truly couldn't be too bad.

Carl had seen the winged man often. They cared for his owner as much as he did.

Gently, they curled a few fingers in his mane to lead him on without the tack. Carl sometimes enjoyed being mischievous, but he'd allow it today. He was tired, wet, and dirty. His stable would be warm and comfortable.

"You did good," the man told him while giving him some more pats. "Good boy, Carl."

Neighing in contentment, Carl allowed himself to be stabled. From there, he could watch the cabin. Tomorrow, his owner would surely come to clean his fur and praise him for how well he had done in bringing them home.

Carl hoped he would get a gapple for his troubles. It was the least they could do.