Destruction Lay Around Me From a Fight I Could Not Win [OPEN]

[witnessme]

Who: Victims and their friends
What: Devil's night left Shepherd's Haven and more than a few of its inhabitants in rough shape. While rebuilding is in process, a few of these folks are in a Christchurch hospital.
Where: Christchurch Hospital
When: October 31-November 7, please note the date in your toplevels.
Status: Open, ongoing
Warnings: Injured people



A mission of peace, kindness and camaraderie was a wonderful thing in theory, and even in practice, so long as every variable meant it. For a little while, it had been that way, and then a variable had turned negative and poisoning an otherwise nourishing well with fear and fire. It had deflected and desecrated every approach until the very last, requiring might in numbers to drive off. The result lingers long after the last traces of its shadow, though, and some who had relocated to Shepherd's Haven for the isolated safety found themselves lifted out by helicopter and taken to Christchurch Hospital for treatment.

There are reporters that want to get to into the rooms, curious about the victims and about the mysterious, dangerous Numbered who would do such things to his own. For the most part, they're kept out, but one might slip through every so often. Visitors are allowed, and if one of the unfortunates who was in the village at the time of the attack wishes to be near another, they're unlikely to be discouraged. While the world may not understand or always love the Numbered, at least Christchurch as a whole seems to realize that the ones currently admitted are not to be feared.

Comments

[lovesickkiller]

"Don't-" Misa starts, surging forward from the waist up and reaching after him. It's a pathetic attempt; he is far beyond her reach, and with a defeated grimace she falls back against her pillow. "Don't push yourself over something so stupid," she mumbles, not expecting him to hear it.

The shock and trauma make it hard to recall everything that happened that night with clarity, but Misa knows that Lazarus carried her as far as he could to safety before collapsing from his injuries. Watching him limp over to the bathroom to get her such a silly thing makes her want to cry.

[numberedshepherd]

He's already several steps away when she tries to grab him, and he thinks wryly that this time, he's able to proceed unimpeded. By more than his injured leg, anyway; he thinks about the last time he walked without difficulty and pain and how he took it for granted, didn't even think about the miracle that was ease of movement. Recently, someone on the Network had encouraged him to take up running and that rings bitterly ironic now.

"It isn't stupid," he says, forcing a smile, hearing success as it comes out in his voice while his face is turned away from her bed. "No one likes being in the hospital, and as someone who's spent a lot of time in them... I can tell you from experience that it's the little things that keep you feeling human."

He holds onto the sink. The room's tipping and spinning, and the pain and painkillers are working together to make his stomach flip sideways. But his hand closes around the small pouch of toiletries, left here by a nurse after the last time they sprayed down Misa's burns.

He keeps that smile in place as he makes his way back to Misa's bedside and when he sinks back into the chair there, he realizes it'll be awhile before he can leave it as he offers her the stick. "It barely hurts at all anymore," he lies, his reliable monotone betraying nothing.

[lovesickkiller]

Misa slouches forward, head tilted down so that her hair fans in front of her eyes. God, she doesn't want him to see her like this. She is already disgusting enough and now he has her crying over stupid things. Maybe it's the pain killers. She doesn't look up when Lazarus makes it back over, not even when he tries to hand her the deodorant.

"Don't," she begs, breath hitching, "Please just... don't."

[numberedshepherd]

Lazarus tilts his head, not making any outward judgments. He doesn't withdraw or crowd her. He just sets the deodorant carefully on the bed next to her pillows and watches a reaction that he's ultimately powerless to help.

That's the worst part: the powerlessness. There isn't a doubt about it. Lazarus pulls his arms closer to his chest when she asks him not to, no specifics, it doesn't even matter, does it? He stays where he is because right now, he might very well pay for his show of normalcy and wellness by needing someone to help him back to his own bed. His shoulders curl forward, his head hangs a little lower, and for now, at least, he doesn't.

[lovesickkiller]

Misa tries to stay quiet, tries to ignore her quivering lip and the pressure building inside her until it threatens to burst, but she can't. She eventually has to breathe, and she makes a sound and then everything comes tumbling out in a sob.

"You almost died!" she says, voice loud in her own ears. She breathes in, a sob wracks her body, she breathes in again and again in short bursts. "You carried me, you- you- you're hurting yourself just to-"

At this point Misa runs out of words. She pushes the deodorant over and then gives up on communication entirely as her short breaths begin to approach hyperventilating.

[numberedshepherd]

Lazarus has no choice but to outwardly react when Misa finally breaks down, her emotions smashing through the dam she's built around them and sweeping their burned legs out from under them in an onslaught of hurt and anger.

He can't truly fault her. He can't look at her either; after everything, the washes and grafts and attempts to walk without limping, this is easily the most painful.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, there being nothing else to answer with. "I'm so sorry. I thought... if it was something small, maybe I could..."

Do it right. Not screw it up, not prompt a line to form at the door to cuss me out for yet another failure.

[lovesickkiller]

Misa shakes her head back and forth, coughing on air and unable to speak. Why doesn't he get it? How is he still apologizing? After everything they've been through, after everything he did for her and is still trying to do even now.

She wishes she could draw her knees up, bury her face against them and curl into a ball until the crying fit passed, but she can't. Even her most base coping mechanisms have been taken from her.

"Don't," is all she manages between sobs and wheezes.

[numberedshepherd]

He's at a loss for how to deal with her reaction. He doesn't know what he expected, and is even more clueless when it comes to what he's supposed to do now. He's a failed provider, and it leaves him feeling inadequate, emasculated and wrung-out.

He'd leave with his head hanging if he thought his leg could take it, but unfortunately, crossing the room probably has undone a couple days' worth of healing.

"Misa... what would help? Anything. What can I do?"