Flowers for the Forsaken
Summary:
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters (especially not Don). Which in hindsight...is probably a good thing.
A/N: Looks like we're back here again with a smaller multichapter fic. But, before you feel dread at the thought of me possibly abandoning this, don't worry. I've actually finished writing the entire thing so all I need to do is post chapters everyday. Plus, this is a shorter multichapter fic so it takes out less energy. So, hope you enjoy this angst train. Have a nice day!
"Not again…" he heaved out, glaring at the bloodied clump of flowers that were on his hand, the pain in his chest subsiding slightly. Probably due to the fact that he had just coughed up what was blocking them, at least for the time being. He felt exhausted, the kind of tired that was bone deep and zapped every single ounce of life out of him. Was this what Mom felt? He wondered for a brief second before shaking his head. No, of course not. Mom went through hell, being robbed of her own strength and autonomy. Meanwhile I…well…what do I count this? Don wouldn't really say that he was sick, mostly because he could still go to work, albeit with a few problems. But, he wouldn't say that he was in peak condition either since the ticking clock that was his life was rapidly going down with each second. "What a mess" he muttered eventually, rubbing his temples as he tossed the flowers into the nearby trash can.
Hanahaki…a baffling and almost magical disease that still troubles doctors and scientists today. A rare illness that causes flowers to form in someone's lungs, choking and damaging the organs from the inside. In the worst cases, roots can form around the lungs or even the heart, wrapping around them tightly as the host suffocates or the heart fails.
"This is fucking stupid" he growled. He's a grown man goddamnit, not some angsty teenager. His body didn't need to pull this kind of stunt on him, not after all the other bullshit it's pulled. But it seems that his body was doomed to disobey him at every turn, making his whole life more difficult than it needs to be. "I'm not even bothered by this!" he shouted into the empty room, throwing his hands up in annoyance. The silence that came after felt like it was mocking him.
"I'm not!"
More silence.
He was about to shout again before he felt it, the sharp pain in his chest along with the suffocating tug of vines within his lungs, squeezing the air out of him. He grabbed his chest and bent over, coughing and hacking. The painfully familiar scratch of petals within his throat and blood on his tongue as he hacked out the new petals, his throat burning as the flowers ran over his raw throat. The overwhelming smell of sweet flowers and coppery blood making his stomach turn. He fell to the floor as let out a particularly rough cough, his throat burning as clumps of flowers and broken petals fell out of his mouth, blood plastered onto the soft blooms.
"Alright…" he rasps out, wincing at his sore throat. "I might be a bit bothered." He winced again as he felt the vines wrap tighter in warning for his lies. "Who am I kidding? I fucking hate this" he groaned as he laid on the floor, all of the energy leaving him from the coughing. "Why did it have to be this of all things?"
God…he was absolutely fucked…
A/N: Looks like the angst train has begun...