Sentinel Green 2.3

Wisteria 2.3

I utter a sound of garbled shock and swerve wildly through the thankfully empty highway. One hand stays on the wheel but the other flies up to shield my face from flying glass and metal shards that bounce off my arm. I tear my eyes from the road to the thing that hit me--and I discover it’s not a thing at all, but a she. Holy shit, not again!

I slam on the brakes and fishtail wildly through the road, rubber burning on asphalt. This girl--I cast her a look and my insides churn. She’s going to die. Her arm is mangled, bloodied with bone jutting out. Her torso is a wreck of more blood and she's covered in what seems like hundreds of cuts from the glass she smashed upon entry. It’s a miracle she isn’t already dead--her eyes are fluttering and she’s awake, somehow. I manage to shout out, “Just--hang on, I’ll get you to--”

It’s around there I notice her outfit. A matte and glossy black corset hugs her body, adorned with dozens of violet ribbons. Beyond that she's in some kind of fancy, short skirt with black lace-up boots with a thick chunk heel. I can make that out because one of her long legs is smashed awkwardly up against my glove compartment. She's dressed like she's coming back from or on her way to a comicon. Just like I look when I transform and... a few things start to click into place. This is sort of near the same damned stretch of freeway where I hit that other poor girl. This chick just came flying into my car and is somehow not dead on impact--she’s like me. Should I, can I even take her to a hospital? Who would I say I am? I’ve got no identification, and I don’t know that she’s got any either. I wind up not finishing my sentence as I try to kickstart my brain into producing brilliant ideas.

“Oh--my god, your--” I manage to cut myself off before I describe exactly which body parts are covered in blood or impaled or gored up horrendously. “Um. I need to--what do I--”

The girl levers herself up the best she can and turns her face to me. Her bright, but dazed golden eyes seem to have a hard time fixing on me. “Drive,” she wheezes. “Drive or it’ll get us. Get clear.” Then she slumps back against the ruined seat and my stomach leaps into my throat.

Oh god, this is not happening. First that big, gory handprint on the asphalt, now this--and so close together? I gun it until my accelerator is jamming hard against the floor of the car. The Neon groans as it rattles as fast as it can go considering so much damage. She said something was going to get us--and after these past few days I know better than to argue. I check the rear view over and over, and glance at my half-destroyed passenger even more frequently--my eyes are scarcely on the road in front of me.

What can I do for her? She’s still alive, but she won’t be for long at this rate. I make an executive decision and pull my sputtering car to the side of the road. There’s nothing coming for us.

The poor, wrecked girl is trying to speak, but I can only make out a few words. What am I going to do?!

It hits me as I find myself wishing for Gaia to pop up out of nowhere and fix this. She did give me one thing, and I have to give it a shot. I grab onto the broken girl’s slim shoulder and close my eyes, picturing my apartment. Will I end up leaving her here temporarily, unable to take her with me?

No, evidently not--we appear in the apartment together, and I lunge to stabilize her, worried she’ll collapse to the ground. Her amber colored eyes are hazy and unfocused and I scoop her up easily to carry her to the bed.

Is it just me, or is she bleeding less profusely? Shit, that means she's bleeding out, right? I know nothing about trauma medicine. Lying her down on the (formerly) white sheets, I move shaking hands down to her corseted abdomen to take a look at what appears to be part of my door. Sticking out of her stomach. Oh god. Now I have a better look at her arm, too--and that is ten shades of broken. I was right about the bone sticking out and I feel vaguely like curling up on the floor and hyperventilating.

There's more, too, things I hadn't examined as closely while in my moving vehicle. Glass shards and huge gouges from the impact. I don't want to touch the metal in her abdomen--that'll make it worse, right? So instead I take out a few glass shards from her shoulder and arm in what has to be the most ineffective gesture in history. She twitches a little under my administrations and I wince.

"Gaia!" I shout. "I could really use some help, here!"

I look down at the dying girl and try not to be sick. "Hey," I say, voice gentle and soothing as I can make it. "You're safe, okay? No danger here."

Then I look to her mangled arm and... do a double-take. The cut looks smaller. How is that possible? I stare at it hard, willing for this small blessing to be true. When the skin gently seals itself back up before my very eyes my heart soars. Maybe I won't need Gaia after all.

Just... just a lot of guts. And a strong stomach. Holy crap, can I really do this?

I take a steadying breath and bite my lip, wincing and giving the girl a deeply apologetic look. Not that I'm all that confident she can see it. "I'm... gonna have to cause you some pretty significant pain here in a bit. I'm sorry."

Thank you God for sending a girl who can self-heal through my car. If it had to be done, that was a surprisingly non-dick move.

I start small, with glass and other debris, testing my theory. At first when fresh red gushes from a bad cut on her thigh I fear I was wrong, but the process is happening--just slowly.

I try to talk to her as I go, joking softly about how she's a gold star patient and that her power is badass. I don't know if I'm just being annoying, if it's comforting, or whether or not she can even hear me. She’s wheezing horribly and I know I have to hurry. Or, I think I have to hurry. I don’t know what I’m doing.

When it comes time for the biggest wound I am up to my elbows in blood. It's mostly because I keep having to reposition and slide against her skin and clothes to get at the injuries, but it looks like I murdered her. My forehead is sheened with sweat but at least I'm past the point of trembling. This is a job now, and I will see it through.

Still, my strength fails at that metal bit. This is going to hurt her so bad.

"I'm sorry," I say, then grasp the metal lodged in her body.

All at once her undamaged arm snaps up and grabs my hands, locking them in place. “Don’t!” she gasps around the damage to her lungs. “Not yet. I haven’t got the strength for it yet.”

I freeze. She's talking and I can hear her this time. My heart jumps in my chest and I swallow hard around a dry throat. "O--okay." I release the shard and stare at her for a moment. She's fucking hardcore. Healing or no, I doubt I'd be this composed with part of a car sticking out of me. I feel a surge of admiration for her.

Now I'm stuck though. I've got nothing more I can do to help her. "How--let me know when," I say, helplessly.

She keeps her grip tight on my hands and I take a moment to look at her now that she's more cognizant. And I feel my mouth dry for a different reason. She's beautiful. Slightly mangled, yes, but objectively gorgeous and I feel awkward and very aware of this. Her tawny, bright eyes are locked to mine and my brain stalls out. It’s like being a stupid, self-conscious teenager again… which… I probably am. I try to think of things to say, mostly to put her at ease, but I’m drawing woeful blanks. I very nearly say, how do you feel? which would just… be the worst. Oh, good, you know… sort of impaled, but other than that, very comfortable. “Don’t talk if it hurts you but--what… what happened to you? What were you running from?” That seems like a decent place to start.

Her grip strengthens on my hands and she retorts with, “I wasn’t running. I think that was more me falling out of the sky, and…” I cringe slightly and open my mouth to apologize, but she’s grimacing in pain and the words die in my throat as I furrow my brow and watch her with apprehension.

She takes a moment, then shakes her head. “I’m getting hung up on technicalities,” she mutters. “Let’s keep this simple, and maybe you’ll believe me.” At this point anything she tells me I’m going to assume is true, but I don’t interrupt her to say so. “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.”

Then she frowns, and even that expression just makes her look serious and more focused. “How far did we get, anyway? I wasn’t really coherent after I hit the car.”

“You’ve had a hell of a time,” I murmur softly to her, “I’ll do whatever I can to help. I… believe you,” I add, my mind flashing briefly through the “impossible” things I’ve seen during the past 24 hours. I wonder what the creature that smacked her into my car looks like, and realize I don’t want to know. “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.” Shit. My stomach tightens as I remember trying to explain magic to Victor and being punched in the face. But… this girl is a self-healing, super-durable monster fighter, so… that’s promising. “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.” Okay, enough babble. Time to gauge how she’s taking this. I can always show her the view out the window when she’s more mobile.

The reaction she has is not at all the one I was expecting. She… starts to laugh. A lot. To the point where tears shine, unshed in those eyes from the pain she’s no doubt causing herself from the mirth.

Oh, shit. She does think I'm crazy. Either that or she's hysterical from pain or this absurd situation. I despair a little as it looks like her laughter jostles her wound, feeling sympathy pain in my own abdomen as she starts to wheeze instead. After a moment she wipes at her face and says, a little cuttingly, “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 tears sealed up and healed before your eyes?” She… she has a point. Several. Not including the ones from the glass sticking out of her. “You can hit me with the big stuff, Harry."

Relief courses through me. “Okay,” I say, calmer and a little less nervous now. “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--” Uh. Magical not-so-girl. “... Guy, protect the world from evil, light incentives here and there? This is one of my incentives. Safehouse.”

When I glance back up to her face her eyes are closed and it looks like I’ve just delivered horrible news to her. “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.” She's new? That's surprising to me, but I don't question it. Maybe she just embraced the lifestyle better than I have so far. All I've done is whittle tokens, botch my attempt to convince Mina and Victor, and eat ramen.

She opens her eyes as I eye her wound, wondering if she’s good to get that shard removed yet. Apparently she notices. “Hey. I think I can give this a shot. Pull it out.”

Stomach lurching again. "Alright," I say, bracing myself and giving her as encouraging a look as I can. This is going to suck.

I grasp the shard, get as good a grip as I can, and pull. I expect to have to work hard at it, but it comes free with surprising ease--gotta be that strength that allowed me to jar my jammed driver's side door open. I grimace though, ready to offer whatever I can after that nightmare--pressure to the wound, an arm to gouge her nails into--and... that's about all I can offer.

She lets out a gasp of pain and I bite my lip, hard, watching as the bones and skin shift around her arm and her torso. It’s… horrifying but fascinating. She groans out again not half a minute later, from some internal stimulus, and after a moment of breathing, manages, “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.” I am blindingly grateful she didn't take a turn for the worse during what was definitely the second most gruesome sight I've ever witnessed. First would be the girl I ran over with my car.

“I think I can let the rest happen on its own,” she continues. “Some bandages and rest are all I should need for what’s left.” I let her take the shard from my hands, though I don't know why she wants it--trophy? Then she meets my gaze again and I get to see her smile for the first time that isn’t coupled with bitter laughter. “Thanks,” she says, softly.

For the first time since everything went to shit I feel like I’ve done something right, and while I want to say something profound, all I do is retreat to the bathroom, muttering about bandages. That's where they would be, right?

I return with my bloody arms laden with packages and boxes, and dump them near her feet on the bed, glad for having another job. First things first, though--I dart to the sink and scrub my hands and arms up to my elbows and jog back to the bathroom for towels. She's bloody like mad and bandages won't stay unless I clean her up.

I come back with fluffy white towels, which I wet under the kitchen sink before bringing them over to her. And encounter an awkward issue. That corset is not going to be able to stay on if I'm going to wrap her wound.

"Um..." I start, wracking my brain. "Can’t, uh… really dress your wounds with that on, but… Oh, here." I strip off my green shirt, which will be baggy on her but infinitely more comfortable. It's the first time I've been shirtless in this new body and also the first time in my life I've had defined abs. "Lemme, uh--here," I grunt, helping her gingerly into the shirt so I can help her out of the corset under it without compromising her virtue. I'm sure even that hurt, and removing the restrictive garment will hurt even more.

I peer under the shirt and find the laces at the back. And. My face heats up something awful. Damn, I love these things, and under different circumstances this would be awesome. Drastically different. I suppose that’s one perk of bisexuality--at least I won’t have to get used to this body’s desires, even if they twinge in a slightly different way. I work the bow free and unlace the garment bit at a time, listening carefully for sounds of pain as I go. She’s clearly not comfortable, tensing up here and there, but at least I’m not making her cry out in actual agony as I carefully move my hands down her body.

Once the corset is free and hanging loosely under the shirt, I take the towel and realize it’s gone cold. That won’t do. I leave her briefly to run it back under warm water, then wring it out over the sink. When I return I approach from the front this time and peer under the green shirt so I can clean up the worst of the blood. The towel doesn’t stand a chance and I quickly have to get the second one.

When she’s decently cleaned up and dry I unwrap a box of large cloth bandages and a package of gauze, then do the best job I can at wrapping her healing wound. Tight, but not too tight. It usually fell to me to patch up wounds at home so I can at least do this with some manner of confidence. Maybe it’s showing, because she isn’t tense anymore… in fact, she seems to be more or less relaxed as I work, which is a miracle in itself.

I tape the dressings shut and unwrap another box of bandages for her arm. Those are the main ones that will need to be covered before she can rest. The arm is a lot easier and less awkward to clean and wrap up and when I’m done I deposit the towels into the sink and brush the boxes and wrappers to the ground.

"Are... you hungry, thirsty?" I ask. "Or you just want to sleep?"

Her voice sounds just a little hoarse as she answers. “I could use some water. I’m not really sleepy but I am tired.” I stare at her intently as she gingerly looks around the room, and her range of motion seems to be good enough to put me at ease. “I do seem to be taking up your only bed though.”

“Right,” I say, then turn around to head to my kitchen and pause mid-stride, staring at the cupboards while I remember which one held ramen and which one held dishware. “Don’t worry about the bed, I’ll pull up a…” I look back over my shoulder before I finish with, “chair.” Yes, I do own a chair. Good.

I end up opening the wrong cabinet before I find the cups. A cursory check of the freezer just yields my three frozen dinners, no ice, so I fill the glass from the tap and bring it back to her, dragging a wooden chair closer as I do.

The girl drinks the glass of water I hand to her quickly, then stares briefly down into the bottom of the empty cup. I can only guess what’s going on in her mind and hang on her every word as she speaks up. “Look… The last day has been probably the worst day of my life, so… I’d like to just get some rest, I think.”

I nod to her and offer a smile. It’s all I’ve got right now. “I’ll be here,” is the only other thing I’ve got, but I want her to know I’m not going anywhere. I pull up my chair and lean my back against the side of the bed, so she’ll know I’m watching out for us, and give her a last look before I turn my face outwards, towards the only window. I’m reasonably sure nothing will come through it, but it’s the thought that counts.

Behind me she settles in on the bed, and I listen to the sounds of her breathing, waiting for any changes in it, oddly comforted by the smooth, even cadence.