Chapter Five:
Landslide
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I know you're sad and tired
You've got nothing left to give
But you'll find another life to live
I know you'll get over it
-Oh Wonder, "Landslide"
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The storm stayed with them for almost half a week. When it passed, the woman left and went scouting ahead, to see how badly the island had been torn up in its wake.
"Sometimes, there's structural damage to the island. Bridges and trees collapse. Trails are buried under mud and rockslides. Flooding can force unwanted detours. You name it, it's probably happening somewhere."
What she wasn't saying aloud was that she needed to move fast, and she was much faster than him. Not as fast as Lenalee and her Dark Boots, but fast enough that she could easily lose him and not realize it right away. It's already happened once before. She told him that he was lucky Carmilla found him by the time she came back to look for him and not one of the other predators.
She apparently had very limited and tenuous relationships with only a few selected predators on the island. The others didn't seem quite as attached to the werewolf.
He spent most of the days puttering around the caves, digging into the storage and footlockers. He found quite a few board games, like a complete chess set and several board games such as Candyland or Monopoly, and after much digging, he even found an intact deck of cards! He immediately set to playing against himself, trying to figure out new strategies—as well as new ways to cheat. He was the king at cards, honest hands or not, and he would be at his wit's end if he didn't keep his skills honed.
Maybe he could even convince the woman to play a few rounds. She wouldn't know what hit her.
As he shuffled the deck, going through maybe his fifth round of playing himself, the door slammed open and he dropped all them to the floor, startled. They scattered all over the place and he stood, alarmed and tense.
The woman was dragging something into the cave, and it took him only a moment to recognize arms, legs, a body, a face—another person. His heart skipped a beat. Another person! But then he saw the red blooming, spreading, leaving a trail across the cave floor and he hurried over, quickly picking the dragging legs up.
"Couch," she ordered and they quickly shuffled the body over. It was an older gentleman, perhaps in his fifties, dressed in blood and grime-stained slacks and a plain tan button-up shirt. He was clean shaven, although there were traces of stubble beginning to form on his face. Scratches adorned his face, like he had hit something—or the Compies got to him before the woman had. His face was taut and drawn in a pained grimace. Allen moved back, seeing the hasty field bandage around his middle. They were already wet, dark, and sticky with blood.
"First aid kit—the big black bag in the storage room. Go."
The woman's voice was firm but brooked no room for argument. He scattered, coming back only when he had the bag in hand. She yanked it from him as soon as he was close. She had already pulled the man's shirt up, revealing the extent of the damage. A piece of shrapnel was sticking out of his side, and a bandage had been wrapped around it, keeping it from jiggling around and causing further distress.
The werewolf was already ripping the bag open, pulling out a needle and thread, gauze, ointment. She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Grab the moonshine from my room and then I need you to help hold him down when I pull that thing out of him."
He hurried away again, this time to her quarters. The moonshine was perhaps one of very few vices the woman partook in—strong and disgusting homebrewed hard liquor that smelled like it'd burn a hole right through him like acid if he so much as tried a drop. Yet she drank it by the gallons when she was relaxing like it was water, and never seemed to be affected by it. Either she was very good at hiding her drunkenness or she really wasn't affected. He was also unsure of where she kept her still, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know where it was.
Allen hurried back around the couch after handing off the jug. She directed him where to hold the injured man and he did as instructed. She moved over to the middle, grabbing the piece of shrapnel. The man beneath them groaned and whimpered, twitching.
"One…two…six! Hold!"
He pushed down just as the men bucked upward in protest and the woman jerked the metal shrapnel out in one smooth motion. The injured party howled and kicked, sobbing as he begged for them to stop. He tried to push Allen away with renewed vigor when the woman poured some of the moonshine over the wound.
"Keep him still, I don't have any anesthesia, so this is gonna hurt him. See if he'll take a drink. It might calm him some."
She pushed the jug toward him and he wrinkled his nose and the cloying scent, but complied nonetheless, circling to the man's front. The man was barely lucid and coherent, his energy waning quickly but he took a few large gulps of the alcoholic concoction with little protest. It calmed him for a moment, just long enough for the woman to get started.
"Keep him awake," the woman's voice cut through the strained silence after a few minutes. "Don't let him sleep. Get him talking."
She was calm as she spoke, her voice level and soft yet it still held that firmness to its foundation. He turned to face the injured man, gently shaking him. Bleary, glazed eyes popped open, laboriously slow and dull-witted from the blood loss. There was so much of it, he wasn't sure how the man was still alive. He tried to not look at the blood, ignored the feel of the hot liquid soaking into his arm as he reached over to shake the man awake again.
"Hey, hey, you need to stay awake—come on, now. Can you tell me your name?"
The man's lips moved wordlessly. He was losing fight in his limbs now, barely able to lift them, let alone push Allen away.
"Hey, wake up! You need to wake up, don't go back to sleep!" He passed a terrified glance over at the woman kneeling beside him as she worked. "How did this happen?"
"Shipwreck during the storm. He must have gotten slammed into something before washing up on the shore," she replied, once more keeping her voice clam and level. He understood what she was trying to do now. He turned back to face the nameless man, surprised to see him openly weeping.
"My…family, where are they? My…my wife…she was with me. I need to see Celia, where is she?"
Allen's gaze skittered toward the werewolf again, but she had that mask up again, unreadable and impregnable to determine what she was thinking. Her hands were simply the only thing she worried about, tying up flesh whilst trying not to lose her impromptu patient. She must have felt his gaze on her, however, because she finally answered, "I'm sorry. I didn't see anyone else. They're gone."
"They might not be!" Allen whipped his attention back to the man, but he could only see a pale, crying man losing hope. "No, no, she—she's mistaken, she might not have seen them where she found you, but they could be somewhere else—they could be alive! There's more than one beach on this island, I've seen them!"
How could she be so calloused towards a man barely clinging to life as it was? He was distressed; he needed hope!
"Keep him talking," was all she said when she caught him alternating between looking at the man and her.
She worked to make every stitch count and the minutes crawled by. Allen didn't know when he grabbed hold of the dying man's hand, but he had and he held on, trying to get him to talk about anything, everything. Allen couldn't tell if the man was crying about the loss of his family or the pain he had to endure or if it was a combination of both.
Nearly twenty agonizing minutes passed. The blood never seemed to stop flowing and he was horrified to see just how much a human body could contain and how much could come out and spread. The couch was ruined beyond salvage, but neither of them thought about that. When the woman pushed herself to her feet and moved away, Allen was knocked from his stupor. He was still holding the man's hand, but it felt wrong, like it was a hunk of wood. It didn't occur to him at first, but then it clicked seconds later after staring at the lifeless, open eyes for nearly a half-minute. Only then did he extricate himself and stumble away, shuddering and his stomach roiling. The man was dead.
He had died a pointless, stupid death. Even when he had help, he couldn't be saved, not in time.
The woman was dry heaving out by the door. He stared, dazed at the sight before he glanced down at himself and thought, I'm covered in blood.
The thought was so surreal and distant, it might as well have been somebody else in his clothes, in his shoes, his body. He looked back at the man, limp and sprawled over the couch, his shirt riding up to expose the wound in his side. It had been completely stitched up, but it was too little too late.
The shrapnel lay on the table, an innocuous enough object. It was a small metal tubing, and thin too. It looked like a piece of old pipe. One end was saturated with blood and bits of gore. It didn't even look big enough to be a threat, and yet it had done so much damage.
He stumbled away from the sight, feeling sick and wanting to distance himself from the sight, the smell, the very thought of this pointless death. How many deaths had this island claimed with something so small and simple as a piece of pipe?
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They didn't bury the man, like he thought they would do. Instead, they built a funeral pyre for him, down by the cliffs and away from the forest valley below. The raptors watched from a distance as they worked, eyeing the body greedily. He assumed they were just waiting for an opportunity to scavenge the body for themselves. Thankfully that didn't happen. They held a margin of respect for the woman and therefore a distance—or so he hoped that was the case.
He worried the wood wouldn't burn. It was still damp from the storm that had passed through. But, just as he was about to cast his doubts out, the woman had tossed the torch she brought out onto the pyre and it leapt to work, the flames crackling and spitting away, stubbornly working at the damp wood. It didn't take them long to start consuming the body lying on the wood and soon the air filled with the scent of roasting meat and pine sap and wet wood.
They stood side by side for a long while, watching as the fire grew so hot, so bright, so high, that he could barely see the food it so readily ate beneath it. The smell of burning pine sap began to overwhelm the scent of cooked flesh.
"Did he tell you his name?"
She was looking at him, face awash in the light of the flames. Her eyes looked more yellow than anything. It took him a moment to recollect if the man had told him anything, but he shook his head.
"No. He could barely talk to me. I don't think he was coherent enough after you started to stitch him up."
"I didn't find anything on him, either. No wallet, no passport. It must have all been on his ship when it sank." she said quietly. "I was too late. If I had gone out sooner…"
Her voice fell flat and short, cut off so suddenly. Her jaw clacked shut and was clenched so tightly, he saw the tendons and muscles in her neck standing out clearer than before. Her eyes looked moist and he reached over, hesitated, then thought better and dropped his hand. He was startled when he felt something pulling at his fingers and he glanced down to see her pinky hooking itself around his. He looked back at her in surprise, but her gaze remained locked on the pyre.
"Is it stupid of me to cry for a stranger? Especially when I didn't know their name?"
He didn't hesitate when he said, "No. If he had no one else he knew to do it, then someone who was there has to. It only seems right that someone mourns for him. Even if they were strangers to each other."
Allen carefully moved a little closer, lacing his other fingers through hers. She squeezed his hand in return, hesitant and surprisingly gentle. They stood there in silence for a time, watching the fire twist and snake its way into the air as it glowed and listened to the wood while it cracked under the duress of the flames.
He didn't say anything, but he could see her crying from the corner of his eye.
"He looked like a Robert," the woman said after a while. He flicked his gaze toward her, more than a little surprised at her comment. She caught him staring and he swore he saw a ghost of a sad smile quirk her lips. "Or maybe he was a Bob."
Allen didn't quite know what to say to that. He looked back toward the fire. Dusk was coming, ushering in another night. He could hear the crooning of unseen animals in the distance.
"I still don't know what to call you," he settled on.
"I told you from day one, it doesn't matter. Call me whatever you like."
He wasn't satisfied with that answer. He couldn't keep swallowing his tongue whenever he went to call out to her. It just didn't seem appropriate and it was more than embarrassing that he hadn't even thought of anything at all in the time he's spent here. Allen glanced down, seeing that she hadn't let go of his hand. He could see she had a tattoo on the back of it, but it was…no, no it wasn't faded. It was under a layer of soot and ash. She was always mucking with the campfires back at the cave. He's seen her dip her hands right into the fire when she thought he wasn't looking. He surmised she was fireproof, as it didn't seem to affect her. He couldn't see any easy way of bringing it up. But it wasn't the strangest thing he's seen in his life, that much was certain. He figured the way she hid it however, it was a subject she wasn't comfortable sharing with him quite yet.
He realized he was staring at the tattoo and had wiped most of the grime off of it. He could make out a four-leafed clover, and in its center was a bold number thirteen. He flicked his eyes up back at the woman.
"Ash," he said after a moment. She looked over at him, a brow quirking up in quiet response. "Is that okay for me to call you by? It's just that you're always covered in it. And it's the only thing I can think of at the moment."
She kept her eyes on him, studying him with a scrutiny that reminded him too much of the raptors. He almost missed the faintly tipping of her lips into a crooked smile. She turned to look back at the fire.
"Call me what you want. I told you that from day one, didn't I?"
He was relatively dissatisfied by her answer for a few minutes before it dawned on him that she was approving of his choice. There was a warmth in her voice now that had been absent the first day she had told him that very remark.
The fire was still blazing, red-hot and roaring. The sky was turning bruised as the sun slowly made its descent in the western horizon. The raptors were gone, but he could still hear them, cough-barking and hissing in the distance. A bellow from the pine forest valley below trumpeted away, drowning out their voices momentarily. Allen shivered at the mere primal rage in the noise alone. When the echoes settled and the only thing left to hear was the wind and the fire, he breathed deep, smelling only pine sap and wood smoke.
"It's nice to meet you, Ash."
From the corner of his eye, he could see that faint smile on her lips.
"Same to you, Allen."
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"They're huge!"
'Huge' was an understatement. He's faced monstrous Akuma capable of twisting their shapes and growing to monolithic proportions, but they were unnatural creatures made from an equally unnatural element. These creatures, these dinosaurs, were more or less all-natural, grown animals that had once roamed for millions of years on this planet. They were a successful breed of creature that had been around for longer than humans could ever dream of—they were the epitome of nature's ultimate survivor.
At least, those were Ash's words.
He found that anything invoking religion, God, or other subjects relating to such matters were immediately met with sour looks, scornful remarks, and a generally pissy attitude about it all. He wisely learned to keep quiet on all matters pertaining to the subject relatively quickly. Anything dinosaur-related on the other hand, were generally welcomed with open arms, so to speak.
"Over there—the one with the pompadour head, the long tubing—that's a Parasaurolophus. Herbivorous, all they do is eat plants all the live-long day. They're a part of the, ah, hadrosaur family. Or for better clarification, the duck-billed family. See why it's named that?"
He followed her pointing finger to view a cluster of the large herbivores with the long crested horns on the backs of their skulls. One pushed up onto its large and powerful hind legs as it leaned on a tree, eager to nip down as much greenery in the branches as it could. He nodded.
"Their mouths—they look like duck bills," he concluded. She smiled appraisingly at him and it felt more genuine than her usual thin, tight-lipped ones.
She motioned to another cluster of dinosaurs, these ones a little more drab in their colouration, as well as their headgear. Its crest was a single arc down the center of its skull, giving it an almost fan-like design. It's only spot of colour was the bright blue spot in its center of the crest.
"Corythosaurus, another hadrosaur. And those little guys, close by their herd, the one with the Friar Tuck head piece, all bald and whatnot…those are more aggressive and attack-happy. At least the big'uns will run away from you with all the intelligence of a stampeding herd…most of the time anyway. Those bald-headed bastards, though…they'll run toward you, run you down, and keep on smashing into you even after you've hit the ground."
She shifted her weight, leaning a little closer to him as she spoke softly. "They're called Pachycephalosaurus. Don't worry about the scary big word, just shorten it to Pachy. They have a unique spine and skull structure."
She held out her arm, parallel to the ground and straightened along with her fist. "When they lower their heads down, their skull aligns perfectly with their spine. Once they lock into place, they're a near-half-ton battering ram of pure muscle, rage and bone, charging after you with a ten-inch thick bone-dome." She tapped her skull a few times for emphasis at the end of her spiel, then pointed at him. "That'll pulverize your insides and shatter your bones. Try not to be on the receiving end of their charge. I've gotten hit and knocked down only twice and I hate the shit out of it because they don't leave you alone, even after you stop moving. They're sadistic little fuckers."
He watched the tiny nimble creatures below. They looked so small compared to the roaming giants that surrounded them. He remembered the Compsognathus, however, and how tiny they were and just how damaging they could be. He decided that everything dinosaur-related on this island could royally hurt him, one way or another, and messing with any of them should be filed under Bad Ideas all around.
From the dome-headed Pachycephalosaurus; to the tri-horned Triceratops; to the heavy-armoured Ankylosaurus; to the long-necked and lumbering titan Brachiosaurus; to the plate-and-spike-covered Stegosaurus, they were each unique and dangerous in their own rights. Pachys charged liked battering rams; Trikes would gore and stampede over threats; Brachys could rear up and squash or kick whatever was underfoot and had immense weight and size on their side. He was beginning to see how much more dangerous the herbivores were compared to their carnivorous counterparts.
All the while, Ash continued her lesson, her voice quiet as she spoke. He could hear the strain of barely-contained passion in her tone, the very heart of her joy in sharing this critical information. There was elation in her words, and an almost fevered glow to her as she scanned her eyes over the herds below. This was something she loved, for all intents and purposes. She knew the animals, their quirks and behaviors, the way they reacted to the inherent weather changes and threats to fellow dinosaur predators, the Solarii, and Oni alike.
The day passed quicker than he had expected and before he knew it, they were leaving the herds behind in their northern valley. Their calls continued to follow them, however: crooning trumpets, whistling groans, mournful wails. It was a haunting melody that barely carried itself over and past the mountains to reach them on the other side of the island. Night fell upon them with a hushed whisper, quickly bleeding into the sky as they trekked through the ruinous yet still oddly beautiful landscape. He spotted cliffside homes high up on the mountain faces and in the forest as they pushed through, small cabins and shacks that had once housed the indigenous peoples of the island. There were traces of Solarii influence everywhere too, he began to notice. Crates and pallets of salvage and broken hubs of worn technology were strewn about the island, mingling with the ancient artefacts. There was also the more recent graffiti that was smeared over walls—manmade and natural alike—all over the place. It was white paint, mostly, with motifs most commonly depicting a woman figure with a crown of sunlight. The Sun Queen, Ash had pointed out to him.
The other messages were far more disturbing: 'No One Leaves'; 'Embrace the Fire'; 'Father Mathias Will Set Us Free'. There were others, but above all others, 'No One Leaves' was the most continuously repeated message. He didn't need to ask its context or for the between-the-lines of the missive.
It was already so obvious.
The raptors joined them not long after, flitting in and out of range of sight. Mostly, they were shadows within the shadows, vague shapes that may or may not have been really there. They were silent wraiths, not uttering a peep as they shadowed the two of them. Occasionally, they'd come trotting into view, gently butting their heads against Ash's. She took it in good measure, although none of them offered the same to him. He was sort of glad—he couldn't imagine getting hit in the head by one of them would feel pleasant, however affectionate a gesture it may appear to be.
When the third raptor stopped by and repeated the same head-bonking gesture, he realized he had no clue what the raptor was named. He only knew Clover because of her short stay with them. He'd see her flitting about, but she was the only one he knew by name. When he asked Ash what the others were called, she glanced back at him and shrugged.
"I don't really use their names all that often. I try not to use language with them like we use it. Body language is more important than spoken word."
"But they understand."
"Sure. They understand. But what would you understand better: me yelling at you to get on the ground with only my words, or me pointing an arrow in your face and motioning for the same response?" When she looked at him, he caught sight of a crooked smile on her face as they passed beneath the shafts of moonlight before her face was shrouded by shadows.
"I…suppose the arrow in the face would be more concerning than you yelling," he admitted at last. She huffed. Or was that a laugh?
…had she ever really laughed before? He couldn't recall.
"Words only get so far. Emphasizing my meaning through actions tends to produce more results with these guys. Sometimes words are necessary, but not always. Just because they understand, doesn't mean they care. Putting what I want or need into actions shows more commitment to getting what I want, rather than standing around talking about it."
She paused to hop over the trunk of a huge fallen tree in the middle of their path. He scrambled over much the same, landing nimbly on the other side beside her. One of the raptors cough-barked above him suddenly. Allen whirled and found the large creature crouching above him on the fallen trunk. It almost looked like a bird, the way it hunkered down, arms tucked close to its body, its feathers puffing out and the way it would cock its head to the side.
Ash said that dinosaurs were the ancient descendants of birds. Seeing the raptors and how they moved, acted, and looked…it really wasn't hard to imagine that connection at all.
"That's Carver," Ash said behind him. "He's the beta. The second-in-command."
"Carver…" Allen repeated quietly, eyes straying to the claws on the raptor's hind feet. They clicked against the bark occasionally. "Apt."
He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Ash laugh. It could have easily been a snort, though. The raptor watched him with suspicious beady eyes, his avian gaze watching Allen's every move with such intense scrutiny, it made a chill crawl up his spine. He didn't fancy being on the receiving end of those large hind claws. He had a feeling that if these animals had ever wanted to harm him, they could do it without him knowing what hit him until they were nearly done with the attack. He was just glad that, however and whatever ways she'd gotten through to them so they could communicate on the same level, it worked. It meant that they had, on some level, approached a level of mutual understanding. It also meant that, for now, they were on the pack's good side.
Allen turned to follow Ash, trotting after her through the undergrowth to catch up. Another raptor had joined them. The animal stepped with purpose and care, barely disturbing the undergrowth as it glided toward their position. It was grace put into motion, a hunter on the move. Allen pushed forward, feeling the tangled vines and reaching leaves clawing at his body and limbs, catching on his clothes, trying to slow him down. There was a path they were following, but it was so heavily overgrown, the only way to know it was there was by the cobbled path his feet were following. He was too busy trying to disentangle himself from one particularly clingy bush that he didn't notice the odd piece of seemingly random salvage until pain lanced up his leg and something slammed itself shut like a pair of jaws on his ankle.
He screamed, falling over with all the grace of a boneless chicken. His leg remained locked into place and his fall jarred his limb. A new lance of pain went crackling up his leg, then up into his spine like lightning.
"Hold still!" Something tugged at his leg and another fresh wave roiled over him again. "Stop wiggling, dammit, it's a fucking bear trap! It's got your ankle!"
That sounded about right. Some kind of poacher's trap had him locked in place. He held out long enough for the vice-like pressure to ease. He bit back a cry and stifled it to a piteous whimper when the object released itself and a hand on the backside of his calf guided him away. A metallic snap rang in the air, the report obviously declaring the trap blissfully empty.
"Easy, easy. You're lucky that thing didn't have teeth."
"Oh, lucky! How am I lucky?" He snapped back through clenched teeth.
"The teeth would have stabbed through your leg and then you'd be bleeding out instead."
He groaned, his heart pounding away like a drum in his chest. His leg throbbed horribly and every little prod Ash made, it sent forth a fresh wave of pain from the core of his offended limb to spread across his whole body. She sighed, a heavy and disgruntled noise, after nearly a minute of her prodding.
"I need to get your boot off, or the swelling will make it hurt worse than it already is. And I have no idea yet if your leg is broken."
"Can they do that?"
"Only if your bones are brittle. Or if you're a small child. These are heavy duty traps, but again, you're lucky they don't have teeth. The Solarii laid these out all over the place. I collect as many as I can but even I miss some."
"Why do they leave these things out?"
"Why do you think? They want to trap people and kill them. This keeps them in place, like a snare. Even if they got loose, it'd be a miracle if they could walk, let alone fight on an injured ankle. Or worse." She grabbed the heel of his boot and was as gentle as he believed she could be, but it wasn't gentle enough. He bit back another groan, hissing through clenched teeth.
"I know, I know. It hurts. Suck it up, and it'll be over soon. And try to breathe; you have lungs for a reason."
Easy for her to say!
Overall, it didn't take her long to easy his boot off and carefully peel the sock off his foot. He couldn't see much in the dark, but the way Ash had his leg propped across her lap and was examining his calf, ankle, and foot, she could see just fine. She was gentle, far gentler than she had been with extracting his boot and far more gentle than he had been expecting. He lay back down, an irritated groan bubbling up in his throat.
Just his luck.
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Báthory took him the rest of the way back to the hideout. It took the rest of the night navigating the timorous landscape; finding an easy and equitable route that would allow the large predator easy passage with Allen on her backside was slow-going. The island had too many cliffs, and just as many weakened, blocked, or erased roads and passageways. The storms and nature alike had done their parts to chip away at the once-organized highways that must have existed on the forgotten island, once upon a time.
A grey dawn was rising in the east by the time they made it back to the mountain stronghold. Ash had taken point while Allen rode on Báthory's backside. His foot and ankle were still tender and ached with each thudding step Báthory took, but her strides were long, and even with all the detours, they made good time.
He was honestly relieved to be away from Báthory once they had made it back. The old tyrannosaur was even more terrifying up close and personal, even if he was away from her grinning jaws. He could tell, from the myriad of scars that littered her hide to her vastly sheer presence, it was difficult not to be intimidated by a predator that could snatch him up in one bite and then some.
Ash helped him inside as Báthory took her leave. He hopped on his good foot, one arm slung over Ash's shoulders. Even with her paws, she was still shorter than him.
"Easy does it. I'll get you some meds for the swelling and pain."
She helped him to his bed and he was thankful to be able to relax at last. As soon as he laid down, most of the tension he'd been riddled with for most of the night drained out of him. Even the ache in his leg eased up some, now that it was propped up. Ash was gone only a few minutes, but it felt like seconds. He was exhausted from the ride, his entire body almost as sore as his leg. Riding bareback on a tyrannosaurus was not something he'd recommend to anyone.
"Here. Vicodin. It'll help with the pain and some of the swelling," she gave him a glass of water and a few pills. She was unraveling a beige-coloured roll of bandages as he downed the pills with a grimace. One went down the wrong way and nearly stuck in his throat. He took another swig of water while Ash moved toward the other end of the bed gently propping his foot up on her lap. "I'm gonna put an ACE bandage on your ankle. It'll act like a splint and keep it from getting jostled. It'll hurt for a little, but it'll help."
At least she was honest and upfront about it. No little white lies, no half-comforts.
…actually, he would have liked it a little bit. The bandage did hurt for a time, but it also did the job of keeping his foot immobile. It helped quite a lot in fact—at least, he wouldn't need to worry about stepping wrong. As the minutes crawled by, his thoughts started to grow muddled and his eyelids heavy. He barely noticed when Ash had stepped away, not until he opened his eyes and realized it was dark. The candles had nearly gone out, having shrunk in on themselves from melting.
Only one soldiered on, its flickering orange glow warm and soft. Allen sat up, dizzied even by that motion alone. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and as always, that hovering presence of the Fourteenth lingered beside him. For once, the Fourteenth wasn't smiling.
He laid back down, throwing an arm across his eyes. I must have fallen asleep. My foot doesn't feel that bad anymore.
When he tried moving it, his legs were stiff and sore, especially on the insides of his thighs. He groaned.
Never riding a dinosaur again. It's not worth it. This is definitely not worth it, he resolved when a twinge of pain arced through his both his legs.
Slowly, the muddled thoughts came to a slow halt and in came the trickling half-formed faces of his friends when he thought of what they would say if they saw him on a dinosaur. Lavi would have probably been begging for his own turn and Miranda would have hid away. Kanda…he might have hopped right up on Carmilla, just to outdo Báthory. And Lenalee…
He choked on the thoughts of everyone else, from Johnny in the science department to Komui, even Master Cross…he probably would have laughed at Allen, whether in amusement or something else, he still wasn't sure. The man was an enigma. Or he was…
"You're crying."
He moved his arm, startled and regretted sitting up so suddenly when he did. Everything hurt, like his entire body was just one giant ache. Even blinking hurt now. Or it could just be that he really was crying. He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"I'm fine, just…bad dreams," he said in a rush. Ash stood at the threshold of his quarters, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she studied him. The flicker of the candle made her eyes glow eerily.
"I hate those," she said at last, her voice soft and earnest. She cleared her throat and motioned to her hands. A steaming bowl with a heel of bread was in one hand, while in the other she had a glass of water. "Mmm. Anyway. How're you feeling?"
"Like Báthory stepped on me, rather than carried me all the way here."
"Yeah. First time rides are like that. I gave up on saddles. She hates wearing them. Sorry," she replied, seating herself on the edge of the bed. He sat up again, enduring the fresh wave of ache and pain of various levels across his body, taking the bowl from her gratefully.
"Thanks. How long was I out?"
"A couple hours. Went out, got some food, and made a stew. I got some more Vicodin, in case you needed something to ease things. Last dose for you, though, and then its Ibuprofen the rest of the way. I'd rather not use my entire stash on a bruised ankle. You'll be fine with the switch, don't worry."
"I…suppose I don't have much choice, so I'll just say thank you."
"Mm-hmmm. If you need more food, just let me know. I'll be in the other room."
She left without another word and a swish of her tail after that was said. He was growing used to that sight, at least.
Allen finished his bowl quickly, and almost as soon as he'd finished, she'd returned, this time with the medicine and a few more new candles to replace the melted ones. After he took it, she checked on his foot, even loosened the bandages a little. His foot burned and stung with pins and needles but he felt the relief shortly thereafter. He even wriggled his toes when he was able. He winced at the sight of the ugly bruising that had bloomed all over his pale skin. If he hadn't been any tougher than the average human, he shuddered to think how the trap could have broken his ankle.
The fuzzy sensation that crept along the edges of his thoughts came along slower the second time around. Maybe it was because he actually had something in his stomach, but after his second bowl, he was drowsy once again, but not as much as last time. He had a few more bowls and some more bread, but after a time, the pot ran out and he was left with deer jerky to nibble on.
From time to time, he'd catch sight of the Fourteenth, still hovering and still unsmiling. This was new, he realized. The Fourteenth was always smiling. He glowered dully at the entity.
"What're you looking at?" He grumbled.
"I'm looking at you, but you're looking at yourself in the mirror."
He jumped at the words that cut like a knife through his little bubble of supposed seclusion. Ash had a brow raised, her lips quirked, her head cocked to the side questioningly as she hovered by the doorway. He shrunk back sheepishly. He hadn't even heard her approaching. She was great at that—sneaking around without letting others know she was there. During his archery lessons, on more than one occasion, she had stopped in the middle of a session and tracked a deer that was close by, not uttering a peep or making a sound. Just like a raptor.
"Sorry, it's…" Allen fell short on an excuse underneath her scrutinizing gaze. He lowered his eyes. "I don't really know anymore. I don't recognize myself sometimes." His throat tightened a little. "I don't even think my friends would recognize who I am now. Not that it matters."
He heard the slightest rustle of the curtain. The scrape of claws on stone. The only sign that he knew Ash was still there and willing to keep her presence known. If she really wanted, she could have disappeared from sight, then and there, and he wouldn't know it until he looked up.
"My family is…gone. My father's dead and…shortly after he passed away, it led me to the people I'd soon call my dear friends and now they're gone too. They're all gone and I'm the only one left. Assuming this is the future, then…" He choked on his next words, his eyes hot and stinging. "They're gone and I don't even know what happened to them, to everyone I know, and how things turned out. I never got to see things through and I just…want to know if they made it…"
He sucked in a breath past the hard lump that had formed in the base of his throat, felt the first streak of tears prickle past the corners of his eyes.
"I couldn't even see things to the end, I got stuck here."
The silence stretched on, but it only lasted for so long, before Ash spoke up. She was quiet and reserved as she regarded him.
"I told you before, you're not completely stuck. I could reset the island and send you on your way."
"There's no one left back home in the Black Order. What point would there be in returning to the site, when there'll likely be nothing left to find?"
"Then quit bitching. If you're going to sulk and feel sorry for yourself, then go do it somewhere else. You're ruining the mood of this place."
He scowled at her, feeling his blood boil a little at her careless attitude.
"How can you be so calloused? Ever since I met you, you've been—cruel with how you treat others' feelings! That man, myself—why can't you pretend to be kind for more than just a passing moment?"
"Because letting myself get bummed out and staying that way when bad things happen doesn't help anyone. Pretending things are fine or are going to be fine instead of seeing things as they are and accepting the reality will only make things worse, not better." Her voice was low, but there was a strange growling undertone beneath her words.
Her eyes were both yellow-gold, the blue in her right eye having fled completely, but she only held his gaze for just a moment. "And you aren't the only one who's lost people. Try living through your loved ones deaths and keep on living for hundreds of years, unable to really die, no matter how much you want to. You got displaced in time. I've had to actually endure living for years on end. Why don't we switch lives for a little, because I'd love to know what it feels to be human again."
He was surprised by the slight crack in her voice and how it raised an octave higher at the end. He stared, gaping, even after she left him alone. He stared after the spot she'd been standing moments ago, suddenly feeling sick.
Allen fell into a fitful sleep not long after. He dreamed of his friends, of the few good memories he'd made, and later on, the bad ones came for him again.
OoOoOoOoOoO
