Chapter 5: In a wounded dawn
Vlad could almost – almost – move normally again, if not for the fact that it took him almost twenty minutes to get to the bathroom's door less than ten feet from his hospital bed.
But he could walk his way there, without anyone's help, and that, that was new. It hurt, it was tiring, he wasn't even certain it was worth the hassle the pain the screaming agony in his chest at that point yet, but he could do it.
He hadn't walked out of bed once since the accident, not once before this morning under the watchful eye of a nurse, and now he was contemplating doing it again. Just because he could – and possibly because he had to go to the toilets, but that was secondary at that point.
He'd just make sure not to look in the mirror over the sink.
The rashes had receded somewhat, he'd seen earlier in the day – replaced by ugly, abnormal pimples with a glowing core. His hair was entirely grey now – stress, the doctors had said, and that was perhaps the only part of him that made sense to them even if they didn't quite say it that way. Even the original grey strikes, before everything else turned so, made no sense: he'd been brought to the hospital unresponsive and with a shock of greyed hair, apparently, something that had happened right after "banzai!" after green pain hurts help don't look after...
His fingers were getting worse as the days passed. It wasn't just the tips anymore – four of his fingers were entirely eaten with black and death and rot now. The doctor had said – they'd said – the doctors didn't understand, and Vlad didn't either but Vlad him knew why he knew what had entered his body what was contaminating his blood and flesh death made tangible and thus his fingers were dying slowly and inevitably.
He needed to go to the bathroom, though – and that, he could do something about.
Vlad took a deep breath burns no stop and pushed himself upright.
First step: get up.
He was leaning heavily on his left elbow, but Vlad managed to get his legs out of under the sheets. Just had to push up and actually touch the ground. Right hand on the railing, because he wasn't quite steady on his feet yet, and now he could just get up.
He couldn't feel the cool touch of the railing against his fingers cold dead shriveled like an old corpse but his palm wasn't yet necrosed so he knew he was holding onto something as he went on pulling himself to the side, pushing on his left elbow.
maybe he couldn't feel because his corpse was dead and dead things were unfit for anything except rotting away
His elbow slipped, and.
Vlad didn't understand.
hurts pain cold
He had been getting up, pushing on one elbow and pulling on his other arm. He shouldn't be crashing towards the floor – not yet at least, he wasn't out of the hospital bed, he wasn't up, he was supposed to fall back onto the mattress at the very least – and he shouldn't have his face crushed against vinyl tiles and he should still feel his left arm the necrosis hadn't reached there yet it hadn't it hadn't it hadn't he knew that and not just a hollow presence tingling silently where the limb should be.
It was like he'd fallen through the bed itself like a ghost and physics didn't allow such a thing to happen at all not unless you were dead and part of the afterlife. He knew that. He did.
But he had no other explanation – and more pain to deal with, to suffer through.
Vlad's teeth rang against the floor tangible all too tangible right now not like when he'd fallen through painfully and he felt the shock in his very jaws.
Something cold and pink a flash of green and glowing rolled down the side of his nose – Vlad noticed it through growing tears and ringing teeth, and couldn't look away.
A spot hurt more than the rest – more than his knees slammed against the ground, more than his arm crushed under his side at an odd angle – just where the glowing liquid was coming from. It burned cold again he remembered the last time he'd felt that he knew exactly when and throbbed in rhythm with his teeth and bones.
The logical assumption what he knew what he felt what he was deeply aware of as his body considered it all his even if abnormal not alive not dead abomination: one of the pimples had been torn open by the shock.
This was ectoplasm – and maybe pus, too, because his body was still somewhat human – running down his nose, into his mouth even through his closed lips and he wasn't certain which his lips the liquid which was intangible here.
Vlad finally registered the acidic burn on his tongue – he didn't notice the rushed footsteps next to him, the voices asking him what had happened, how he'd fallen under the bed – and started choking.
can't move hurts can't breathe please can't
Suffocating.
burns
He trashed wildly, pushed against something – someone – without meaning to, tried to grab for – something.
help
The nearest object, as his arms convulsed – and the rest of him too, most likely – and his vision blurred with pinkish tears. He couldn't inhale enough air to keep thinking straight.
a long shrill note
What he felt against his palm was cold and metallic and familiar.
energy rushing in like short-circuited
The last thing he heard was the shocked yelp of a woman.