Azwel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovesuwithknives) wrote2019-03-17 11:54 pm
lovesuwithknives) wrote2019-03-17 11:54 pm
nexus_crossings | IC | Forward-Dated After The Storm
Azwel hadn't returned from the raid. And when he is found, he's in dreadful shape--frostbitten and lacerated and profoundly unconscious. And yet every once in a while he groans, his voice nearly gone, broken words about voices and the cold and the wind. He shivers no matter how many blankets are piled onto him.
Time passes, the Winter breaks, the Hospital is opened again, and Azwel is found and placed in a room where he lies silent under the monitors and amid the tubes and wires, motionless. And so many days later, his eyes ease open. He stares up at the (unfamiliar) ceiling, blinking quietly. With some difficulty he tracks his eyes right and left, taking in the room and the machines whose provenance he can only guess at. He's too weak to even object to their presence, much less detach them. A dull pain washes in and out like a confused tide, sometimes sneaking up on him, other times crashing over him. He stares at the machines for what feels like hours. It is, in reality, five minutes before his eyes fall shut again.
Time passes, hours into days, and he finds himself looking at that ceiling again. Progressively, with every breath, a burning pain steals into his nerves. Quite different to the ache and stab of injuries, muffled by drugs, this burns through all other sensation. It steals his breath and makes him shudder. He squeezes his eyes shut again and moans stringily. This is apparently enough to summon a nurse who, despite asking many questions, cannot find the source of Azwel's mounting pain because Azwel, himself, cannot. It's only after a dose of a painkiller that leaves him woozy that he can even puzzle it out, though he has to do so in the short intervals that he's awake.
It's the shards of the Cursed Sword and the Spirit sword or, more accurately, their absence, that's responsible. It takes Azwel far too long to explain why he needs them to the baffled medical staff but, eventually, they're brought to him. Maybe the staff understood what he was trying to say, maybe they were simply humouring him. But the moment the shards are brought to him he feels that terrible nerve pain start to recede.
He doesn't actually put the gauntlets on--that'd impede use of his hands far too much, especially in the weakened state he's still in. Rather, it is enough to simply place them nearby, on the table next to the bed. He's told the crystalline settings pulse with light when he sleeps, giving a low, quiet, rhythmic ringing sound.
They bring him food now that the portals are functional again. Sometimes he can even keep it down. They speak of the slow, steady receding of the Winter. He'll believe it when he sees it. They tell him Henry's parents had been found, that they'd gone from dimension to dimension looking for him. This, at least, brings a vague smile to Azwel's face. When the family stop in to thank him and to say goodbye, the little boy climbs up onto the bed and hugs him fiercely. "Goodbye, little one," he whispers, holding the child briefly before letting him go, letting him return to his family and his home.
It's for the best, really. A life like his isn't one to add a child to, no matter what any Outer Goddesses might say. Or maybe that's just the pain and weariness talking.
"Is he going to be all right?" Henry's mother asks softly once outside the room. She glances back in through the window, seeing the man has already fallen asleep, again, twitching in his dreams. Henry clings to her leg, looking up with round eyes at the scrub-clad albinoid nurse with her dark goggles and cloud of hair and short antennae.
The nurse gives a small sigh. "Eventually. It'll take a long time to recover from what he's been through." She doesn't mention what the scans found, this woman isn't family or anyone else on the patient's rather short contact list.
Henry and his family go home. Time passes and one day Azwel wakes up and notices something.
"It's gone," he murmurs. "That awful wind is... gone."
Time passes, the Winter breaks, the Hospital is opened again, and Azwel is found and placed in a room where he lies silent under the monitors and amid the tubes and wires, motionless. And so many days later, his eyes ease open. He stares up at the (unfamiliar) ceiling, blinking quietly. With some difficulty he tracks his eyes right and left, taking in the room and the machines whose provenance he can only guess at. He's too weak to even object to their presence, much less detach them. A dull pain washes in and out like a confused tide, sometimes sneaking up on him, other times crashing over him. He stares at the machines for what feels like hours. It is, in reality, five minutes before his eyes fall shut again.
Time passes, hours into days, and he finds himself looking at that ceiling again. Progressively, with every breath, a burning pain steals into his nerves. Quite different to the ache and stab of injuries, muffled by drugs, this burns through all other sensation. It steals his breath and makes him shudder. He squeezes his eyes shut again and moans stringily. This is apparently enough to summon a nurse who, despite asking many questions, cannot find the source of Azwel's mounting pain because Azwel, himself, cannot. It's only after a dose of a painkiller that leaves him woozy that he can even puzzle it out, though he has to do so in the short intervals that he's awake.
It's the shards of the Cursed Sword and the Spirit sword or, more accurately, their absence, that's responsible. It takes Azwel far too long to explain why he needs them to the baffled medical staff but, eventually, they're brought to him. Maybe the staff understood what he was trying to say, maybe they were simply humouring him. But the moment the shards are brought to him he feels that terrible nerve pain start to recede.
He doesn't actually put the gauntlets on--that'd impede use of his hands far too much, especially in the weakened state he's still in. Rather, it is enough to simply place them nearby, on the table next to the bed. He's told the crystalline settings pulse with light when he sleeps, giving a low, quiet, rhythmic ringing sound.
They bring him food now that the portals are functional again. Sometimes he can even keep it down. They speak of the slow, steady receding of the Winter. He'll believe it when he sees it. They tell him Henry's parents had been found, that they'd gone from dimension to dimension looking for him. This, at least, brings a vague smile to Azwel's face. When the family stop in to thank him and to say goodbye, the little boy climbs up onto the bed and hugs him fiercely. "Goodbye, little one," he whispers, holding the child briefly before letting him go, letting him return to his family and his home.
It's for the best, really. A life like his isn't one to add a child to, no matter what any Outer Goddesses might say. Or maybe that's just the pain and weariness talking.
"Is he going to be all right?" Henry's mother asks softly once outside the room. She glances back in through the window, seeing the man has already fallen asleep, again, twitching in his dreams. Henry clings to her leg, looking up with round eyes at the scrub-clad albinoid nurse with her dark goggles and cloud of hair and short antennae.
The nurse gives a small sigh. "Eventually. It'll take a long time to recover from what he's been through." She doesn't mention what the scans found, this woman isn't family or anyone else on the patient's rather short contact list.
Henry and his family go home. Time passes and one day Azwel wakes up and notices something.
"It's gone," he murmurs. "That awful wind is... gone."
no subject
He comes to the hospital with a box of baklava and a vase of chrysanthemums. Stuck inside just as everything is starting to bloom seems particularly unfair, so he's hoping the spot of color will cheer the man up.
"Azwel?" he says, leaning against the doorframe, not wanting to intrude if the man is trying to rest. "How are you faring?"
no subject
But he smiles happily at seeing his guest. "Hullo, Prometheus," he says, his voice less exuberant than usual. "I'm... as well can be expected, I suppose. Please--come in."
no subject
He steps in, placing his gifts on the table next to Azwel's bed, and pulls up a chair. The Titan looks his usual self, although there might be a bit more gray in his beard. The storm has not left him entirely unscathed.
"I heard you were among those who retrieved the cache of food that allowed most everyone to survive the last of the storm. The mortals of the Nexus owe you a debt of gratitude. Is there anything you need, while you are here?"
no subject
At the other's words, he smiles slightly, shaking his head. "I was, but... I fear I don't remember much of the expedition. Something... attacked me. Attacked my mind. All I remember is... flashes. A terrible panic-fear. And when I came round again, I was here, in this hospital."
Oh, look, a distraction! "Are those chrysanthemums? They're lovely. Does this mean the winter is truly gone?"
no subject
But if Azwel doesn't wish to speak further of his experience, the Titan is happy to oblige the subject change. "Yes. I purchased them from the gift shop, but all of the Nexus is in bloom now. Spring is settling in nicely."