Void Guardian 2.3

Approach 2.3

I hold out hope for a moment that I’m going to overshoot the blue sedan, but it's only a moment later I know I’ll hit it. Not dead on. Sharp angle coming down, but it’s coming at me. I have no way to turn midair. I can’t stop myself. I throw my head into the crook of my left arm, shielding my eyes and hope.

My body strikes the car like a falling comet. Metal shrieks, glass shatters and my body breaks as I plow through the front passenger door, destroying the seat and come to rest with my upper body in the back seat. The world spins and exists as pain and noise. I can’t get my bearings. My stomach and chest are on fire and I dimly realize that in addition to the arm full of glass shards and other shattered one, that I’m probably stabbed through the stomach on either door or seat parts. I can’t feel my legs. Breathing is hard. This isn’t good.

I hear the driver shout something about hanging on, and the car lurches violently. The world spins and I hold down vomit. I miss the next part of his panicked stutter as I realize the car is not moving, and I panic. I don’t know if it’s still coming. Is it giving chase?

I lever myself up on a flayed arm and try to look at the undoubtedly shocked driver. My vision is blurry and doubled and I can’t make them out. “Drive,” I manage to croak. ”Drive or it’ll get us. Get clear.” My arm gives out and my world dissolves into pain and motion as I’m slammed against the rear seat, the engine whining hard.

My vision fades in and out and I lose track of time and motion. I’m not sure how conscious I am, or how far we’ve gotten. I don’t know how much time has passed when I realize we’ve stopped. Have we gotten far enough away? Are we safe? I try to speak. “How far did we get...?” My voice is soft, too soft. “Are we safe?” I struggle to pull in the air to say more and I feel myself drifting off.

I snap to awareness with the sudden sensation of falling, then I jerk to a halt and everything is pain again. I feel soft bedding under me. The ceiling is white, but there’s no smell; that hospital smell of disinfectant and cleaner. This isn’t a hospital. Do I need a hospital? I try to wiggle my toes and I’m not sure if they’re moving. I think they are. Grey eats at the corners of my vision again.

Someone is pulling glass from my arm. The pain of it gives me a moment of focus. There’s no blossom of starsong in my head, but I can feel it at a distance, a jangle of worried chords and sadness.

A male shouts from over me, then starts murmuring. I feel a tiny trickle of my power return and just as quickly it’s gone, used up. The pain in my shredded arm dulls and the world focuses a little better. What?

It happens again. A brief flare of pain in my arm, but the tiny trickle of power pops in and is gone again, leaving less pain, less fog in my head. My power heals me? That’d be great if I had any juice left. I’m just using up every erg I manage to recover instantly, automatically trying to get myself back to functioning.

This time, when the man speaks, I can focus enough to make out the words. "I'm... gonna have to cause you some pretty significant pain here in a bit. I'm sorry."

What?

Then I realize what he’s doing as pain flares in my arm as he starts pulling shards of embedded material from me. My power races to keep up on the fumes it can pull to fuel it. It’s a near thing - this guy is helping. But he’s helping too fast. I can’t recover enough power to make a serious difference.

I’m not recovering enough and it’s all the little stuff first. I’m still out of breath, and with more focus and my body not giving me pain signals I realize a couple of things. I’m pretty sure I have a punctured lung, probably from the broken rib that’s like a band of fire inside my chest. But more importantly, I’m not hampered by my lack of wind. I remember having pneumonia. That lack of breath was crippling. I’m not having a problem here other than not having enough wind to get all my words out.

Do I even need to breathe? I keep my eyes shut. It’s just easier to concentrate on what my power is doing. My magic is returning at a torturously slow pace, and that trickle feed just isn’t enough to do much more than heal the minor injuries, but that’s what it’s doing. The major stuff - my mangled arm, my punctured lung, the giant metal shard in my gut - it can’t touch them with the tiny drips it’s forced to use.

After a while my arm feels better. The man hesitates, waiting for a bit. Then I hear the low voice. "I'm sorry," followed by a tug on the metal lodged in my stomach. Panic returns in full force. My good arm flies to his hands and holds them fast.
“Don’t! Not yet. I haven’t got the strength for it yet.” I snap raggedly.

I open my eyes and look at him. He’s a largish man dressed in earth tones - green shirt, tan pants. Mop of sandy brown hair on his head, a blue-green eyes pinched with worry and a light 5 o’clock shadow darkening his cheeks. He’s young, teenage. "O--okay." he stumbles over his assent and his hands relax their hold on the shrapnel in my gut. "How--let me know when," he stutters, sounding out of his depth.

I don’t let go of his hand. Even with the distant and sad strains of starsong keeping me calm, I’m still afraid. I’ve never been hurt this bad before. Never even broken a bone. I don’t want to die, much less die alone and cut off from everyone I’ve ever known. He’s helping, and even though I can hear the fear and shake in his voice - he cares. That’s more than I’ve gotten since my world went to hell. I hold his gaze, and it’s full of worry but he looks glad I’m conscious and relieved I’m not dead.

He opens his mouth and he’s full of fear and curiosity. “Don’t talk if it hurts you but--what… what happened to you? What were you running from?”

I tighten my grip. I don’t want to sound petulant. I don’t. But that grates on me something fierce. “I wasn’t running.” Technically true, again. “I think that was more me falling out of the sky, and...” my guts twinge around my wound. I stop speaking, screw my eyes shut and hiss in pain.

Recovering my bearings, I shake my head. “I’m getting hung up on technicalities. Let’s keep this simple, and maybe you’ll believe me. There’s something down in that little compound that’s dangerous. A very strong, very terrifying creature. It punched me from the ravine floor to the bridge. Hopefully it hasn’t followed us.”

I frown. “How far did we get, anyway? I wasn’t really coherent after I hit the car.”

“You’ve had a hell of a time,” he murmurs softly. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. I… believe you.”

He looks pensive for a moment and he continues, more filled with concern and… embarrassment? I’m not sure I’m reading him right. His eyes dart around while he talks. “Uh… now it’s my turn to hope you’ll believe me. I sort of… took you with me to this… new apartment I got a few days ago that’s… definitely, really, very far away from where we were. I sort of… access this place by imagining really hard that I want to be here, and it’s not… strictly speaking… on the earth that we know.”

He’s dancing around the ‘M’ word, trying to break it to me without saying it. I can’t help it. I laugh. It hurts to laugh but I do it anyway. I laugh even as the pain has tears welling up in my eyes. One actual caring ear and it's a fumbling teenage boy who's part of the masquerade. Who isn't even sure if I'm part of it even after wrecking his car and healing impossibly fast in his bed. I laugh until my already busted gut's pain is unbearable and my laughter shifts into wheezing gasps.

I recover from my laughing fit, reluctantly pulling my hand back to wipe my tears away. I try not to let any bitterness or meanness creep into my tone as I reply. "Does it really seem like you need to ease me into anything weird after I told you I wrecked your car because I was fighting a monster? After I laid here and my cuts and scrapes sealed up and healed before your eyes? You can hit me with the big stuff, Harry." I try to sound confident, even though I'm not sure I actually want to.

“Okay,” he says, practically sagging in relief. “Fair enough. I’m… really new to this whole business, so forgive the holes in my knowledge here, but… I’m pretty sure I’m like you. Magical... guy, protect the world from evil, light incentives here and there? This is one of my incentives. Safehouse.” His eyes drop to my stomach and its jagged new piercing.

Fuck. I close my eyes and all my flippancy drains away. He’s just as new to this as I am. Probably just another kid shanghai’d into Puchuu service. I speak, chagrined. “Fuck. Look, I’m sorry. I’m as new as you are. This is all just… new and scary and weird to me. All of it, even what I can do.”

I check my internal reserves for a moment. I think I’ve got enough juice for a burst of healing. If I limit it to one of my major injuries. I try to focus, then open my eyes. “Hey. I think I can give this a shot. Pull it out.”

"Alright," He says. He flashes what he probably intended as a confident smile my way, but his worry bleeds through as he grabs the metal, shifting his grip a few times before bracing and pulling it free.

The jagged shard tears out, I clench my fists in pain, and am hammered by a wave of even worse pain as I remember my mangled arm is in no condition to be trying to make any kind of hand motion. I let out an involuntary moan of pain and I lose the hold I’ve been keeping on my power, holding it back from trying to heal me in tiny increments. The power doesn’t focus, and just floods my whole body. The bones of my arm realign and join, my abused abdomen organs resume their function, and I feel my rib realign and knit together.

I feel warm, rejuvenated and amazing. It’s glorious.

For about thirty seconds. Then I’m out of juice again, and while the worst is past, my arm still looks like it went through a blender, I still have a deep gash in my stomach and I’m pretty sure my lung is still punctured.

”Guuh!” I gasp incoherently. I breathe heavily before recovering and speaking aloud. “Okay, unpleasant realization - I can’t focus my power at all. Everything heals at once. Bright side, when I actually dump juice into it, my power seems to focus on the most important injuries first.” Good to know, if inconvenient at the moment..

“I think I can let the rest happen on its own. Some bandages and rest are all I should need for what’s left.” I reach out with my good hand and take the bloody hunk of metal out of his hands while he cringes at what just happened. I can’t offer him much. “Thanks.” I give him a small smile.

He walks off. Now that I’m not in burning pain and afraid I’m going to die, I regain a touch of nervousness. I’m in some stranger’s bed, and while he’s been nothing but kind to me, I am extremely vulnerable. I like to think the best of people, but that has never stopped me from idly and constantly thinking up nightmare scenarios with maximum drama. After letting my imagination indulge itself while he putters around in what I assume is the bathroom, I shake my head and force myself to stop thinking of horrible rape and further injury.

"Um..." his voice startles me - I was so deep in my head I hadn’t noticed him returning, arms filled with towels and bandages. "Can’t, uh… really dress your wounds with that on, but… Oh, here."

He pulls his shirt off - and reveals the kind of body I wish I had. Defined abs, pecs, light downy treasure trail, very light body hair, but there. He hands me the shirt and I grab it uncomprehending his meaning. It’s a thin green thing, and I’m briefly stumped as to his intentions before he sees my brief confusion and pulls it over my head, letting the front drape over my breasts. Oh! He’s concerned for my modesty? I’m flattered, really, but I’m more concerned with getting taped up.

"Lemme, uh--here," he mumbles, as he helps guide my arms into the sleeves with care - Not quite enough care though - I wince as his hands maneuver my arms and big fingers stretch torn skin.

Despite all that, I find, his chatter is reassuring. He’s so nervous about keeping me covered before stripping me out of this corset it banishes the spectres of my imagination. He’s every inch the awkward teen, trying to be chivalrous that I once was, years ago.

Finally the shirt is seated right and he’s at my back and unlacing the corset, pulling here and there to loosen it. I wince as my stomach wound is jostled. The pain and inconvenience make me loathe to admit it, but the shirt thing is a nice gesture I wouldn’t have even thought of. I just assumed I’d have to get half naked. I guess it’s good that someone’s here for this. The only other way I could get the corset off on my own would be to drop the transformation, and I don’t know if this regenerative power carries over to my unpowered form.

Then the corset comes entirely loose and drops into my lap under the shirt. My breasts are hanging free. It’s an odd feeling I had tried not to dwell on when I showered… this morning? Christ, has it only been a day? I dwell on how insane my life has gotten in such a short period of time while he walks back to the kitchenette to get the towel wet. Then he’s back, his fingers are strong as he maneuvers my arm around, and the water is comfortably warm as he scrubs away the blood. When he goes around my stomach from behind, I can feel his breath on my neck, and his breathing is slightly irregular. Despite the occasional twinge of pain from tugs on an open wounds, the process is rather relaxing. I feel a bit warm actually. Maybe I’m clinging to straws, but the care shown in cleaning me up is comforting.

His hands go around my stomach with the bandage and it’s not as bad as I feared. Through the slight twinges as he tapes up and wraps my wound, I’m actually quite comfortable. His hands are warm and my body has a slight tingle to it.

It’s a bit zen-like, being cared for by someone being very meticulous about it. I zone out as he wraps my arm, just enjoying the sensation of someone lavishing me with touch. With two working parents, few female friends until I was a late teen, and being a bit closed off due to bullying I was somewhat deprived of touch as a kid. It’s one of those things that I always want, but can’t usually bring myself to initiate because it feels like I’m being too intimate.

All too quickly it’s over, and he retreats, tossing boxes and bandages in the kitchen trash.

"Are... you hungry, thirsty?" he calls, back to me. "Or you just want to sleep?"

I realize my throat is pretty dry. “I could use some water. I’m not really sleepy but I am tired.” I glance around the mostly barren room. “I do seem to be taking up your only bed though.”

“Right,” he says, hesitating mid stride and glancing around the kitchen. “Don’t worry about the bed, I’ll pull up a…chair.”

He seemed to have to check the room for a chair before saying it. He rummages through the cupboards looking for cups, checks the freezer before just filling a glass with tap water. From his searching and hesitance when he opens cabinets, it’s pretty plain that this places is brand new to him. He doesn’t know where dishes are, or if he has ice in the freezer, or even if he has a chair.

Then he brings it over to me. I gulp it down, soothing my dry throat. I belatedly realize after the fact that I’m not one-hundred percent sure my guts won’t leak. God. What a mess the last 24 hours have been. I contemplate the empty glass briefly before turning to him. “Look… The last day has been probably the worst day of my life, so… I’d like to just get some rest, I think.”

He nods, a hesitant smile cracking his face. “I’ll be here,” he says. He slides up next to the small bed, sitting on a flimsy looking chair and puts his back to me. He looks out the window, face painted with an array of neon shades like the lights of Vegas are out there.

I slide down on his bed, not bothering with covers, and shut my eyes. What a fucking disaster. I try to quell my thoughts and just rest. I’m not very successful, and it is some time before I drift off.