Happy Syndicate day! For those like myself who have to wait another month because we are PC gamers, happy less-than-one-month-until-release-day. This chapter is shorter than I wanted but honestly this little idea of "Lets drop a building on Jacob" is getting out of hand and I don't know where it's going or how long it will go for. But it is still going so there you are. I also wanted to post a chapter to show this story is not dead and what better day than release day. Thank you all who've reviewed, I'm so happy you liked this even if it's probably gonna be OOC non-cannon garbage once I actually play the game. I hope it's not quite that bad, but I am basing the twins' personalities off of very limited info.
Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy despite medical inaccuracies. I don't know much about what British doctors in the 1840s knew, and getting that info is way difficult. Suspension of disbelief is my best friend and I'm very tired and at this point, so if I find something horribly glaring later I'll probably fix it after sleep. Cheers!
Pulling Jacob free was a long and arduous process. Evie crept into the wreckage, heart pounding with the fear that she'd missed something, that she'd make one wrong move and it would be over for the both of them. Jacob's stillness did not help and she knelt in the dust and reached out a hand to feel his life for herself. His skin was warm when she cupped his cheek and the breath that played over her hand was a grounding balm she'd sorely needed.
She slipped her hand beneath his collar and found the place they'd both been trained to target, witnessing his pulse with tender, almost fearful fingers. Amazing how often she'd driven a knife into that spot without a second thought. She'd even held her blade to Jacob's throat when he'd done something particularly bull headed, but she'd die herself before ever actually piercing him and they both knew it. She closed her eyes and for a moment just allowed herself to take in the warm rush of blood under the prickle of stubble he refused to shave. It was stronger than she'd expected, which made her dare to hope that he wasn't bleeding internally. She tried to ignore the soft wheeze and slow, pained cadence of his breath. A punctured lung would still steal him from her.
"All right, come on. Up you get, you novice," she murmured, employing the phrase she'd used to get him out of bed at dawn countless times for their training. It had worked especially well when he was sixteen and hadn't really begun to fill out with the muscle and dense bone that he so skillfully wielded now. He'd been skinny and insecure with a sparse beard and "novice" got him out of bed and chasing her across rooftops faster than anything. She only wished it still worked on him.
Gripping his shoulders and pulling, she eased him out from under the beam that had been slowly suffocating him. She felt blood slick her fingers but she tensed harder and ignored it, desperate suddenly to get him out in the open. Eventually she managed to get him propped up against her legs. She looped an arm around his upper chest and tugged, getting him free and pulling them both backwards until they were out of the pile. She didn't properly take a cleansing breath until they were on the cobblestones well away from the building and a rare ray of sunlight cast itself across Jacob's body.
"You're going to be okay," she said firmly, peeling away at his coat and unbuckling his belts so she could get beneath the layers and inspect his ribcage. He groaned, a deep, scraping sound as she traced each of his ribs with a firm hand. She paused, searching his face for signs of consciousness.
"Jacob?" she said, hovering above him and cupping his face. "Jacob, come on, open your eyes little brother."
Another jab that used to get him up. If she wanted to throw him during a sparring session all she had to do was remind him that she was six minutes older than he was. He was eighteen before that quit having an effect on him.
He opened his eyes just a little and turned his head, rolling it like he was trying to squirm away from pain but unsure how. She swallowed painfully and stopped his movement with a gentle hand, shaking her head.
"Shh, don't move. Doctor Martin will be here any moment, I've sent Andrew to fetch him. You're going to be alright, despite your best efforts otherwise."
She pat his cheek lightly, trying to catch his gaze even as his breathing worried her. She hadn't finished checking his ribs and now she was afraid to. It wasn't like she could do anything about it if his lungs were punctured. All she'd have was the agonizing experience of watching her own instruction kill her brother. She fisted her hand in his lapel and grit her teeth. That wasn't going to happen. "Jacob, can you tell me who I am?"
He panted, and it sounded almost like he'd tried to laugh. A grimace stole the humor from his eyes. "Forgotten again…sis?" he gasped, gripping her arm so hard it hurt. His skin was paler and his eyes suddenly rolled and before she could try and prevent it he was unconscious again.
She swore quietly and shoved his waistcoat aside, finishing her examination. She was being stupid, letting her connection to her twin stop her from properly helping him. She needed to know where the break was so she could avoid making it worse. The more she knew by the time the doctor arrived, the sooner Jacob would heal.
She focused her attention so much that she had to blink away the uncanny second-sight her order possessed twice. The cracked rib was low on his right side, the two just above it broken completely. They gave sickeningly under her fingers and Jacob groaned pitifully, squirming weakly away from the pain. The good news was that she didn't feel any evidence that the rib was cutting through tissue, only that it wasn't anchored the way it should be. She let herself sigh and removed her coat, draping it across him. She placed a comforting hand in the middle of Jacob's chest, unsure he was anywhere near concious.
"Just breathe as best you can, once you get something for the pain and we wrap you up you'll be back to losing our races in no time." She gripped his bicep good-naturedly, but he showed no sign of hearing her. His breathing rasped in short, shallow sips between his chapped lips. The shilling that he wore around his neck was resting in the hollow of his throat, and Evie found herself hypnotized by the little glint that accompanied every beat of her brother's heart. The coin was twitching with the pulse racing too fast through Jacob's body but somewhere distant Evie found it comforting. At least Jacob still had his pulse.
Her reverie broke by the arrival of Andrew and the doctor.
"Jacob, you foolish bull, what have you done now?" Martin muttered, his voice strained by years and pipe tobacco. He shook his white head as he knelt painfully on the cobblestones and peered at his patient through gold-rimmed spectacles. "He's in shock, it was good thinking covering him with your coat. That may very well have saved his life. He cannot afford to lose any more heat." Martin lifted the coat and brushed aside layers of fabric, his expression grim. "Especially if he's bleeding internally."
Evie felt her adrenaline spike again and she closed her eyes, desperately trying to focus even as her fingers whitened in their grip on Jacob's forearm. She was so distracted she narrowly avoided tripping on of the darts lining his gauntlet. Andrew had knelt across from her some time ago and had his smaller hand hovering over Jacob's shoulder, as though terrified to touch him. Guilt etched itself into the boy's young brow but Evie didn't have the strength to dispel it, not when she was using every ounce to keep her head and focus as she'd been trained.
What will I do without him? She caught herself thinking, and she shook her head, trying to blur the dark thoughts. I don't want to finish father's work on my own. He meant it for both of us, we need both of us…I need both of us.
"Is it safe to move him to your home?" she asked, pulling away and doing a cursory sweep of the street with her glance. She was already figuring out the best route, calculating risk and chance and scrutinizing the whispering crowds for hidden Templars.
Martin sighed, and when she looked back he was rubbing his forehead wearily, one of his wrinkled hands resting on Andrew's back in a show of comfort. "It will have to be. Leaving him on these cobblestones will surely kill him."
"Fine then," Evie said curtly, spotting an old piece of canvas and striding for it. "We take him to your practice." She tugged it free and returned, laying it out so she and Martin could rig up a stretcher. The twitch of the coin was almost imperceptible.