[ the good news is that he is breathing. this becomes very obvious the second the pews move, because his eyes snap open as if he were electrocuted, his response just as panicked as jiaoqiu saying his name. have to get away have to get moving have to not die have to not die, he draws in further to himself, ready to kick and bite if he has to --
but while his danger senses are fine tuned as ever, his body is certainly not, at the moment, and it takes him a second to actually process what he's looking at through blurred, dizzy vision, dark at the edges. therion looks... bad. something under his bangs is bleeding down his face, and there's a smear of blood on the back of the pew where his head was. his hoodie's cut up and torn and the raw skin underneath doesn't look much better - there are bruises on his jaw. one of his arms is at a funny angle, but he's placed it firmly over his gut along with the other, and his hands are now gripping hard at the edges of his hoodie, clearly holding pressure onto an injury. in other words, it looks like he's been beaten to shit. worse than jiaoqiu has certainly ever seen him. it's rare that therion loses a fight.
concussed, he stares at jiaoqiu like a wild animal, feral, poised. isn't this familiar? but this time, his first response isn't to snarl and run away: no, it's a moment of stunned, shocked silence, his expression flickering from defensive to realization - to confusion, and then to fright, briefly, as vulnerable as he's ever looked. therion realizes that the figure in front of him is not fucking gareth again, or any other of those jackasses, or even darius.
he hisses, from between his teeth, just barely able to - ] What're - get out... here, 's not - safe.
[ the first response here is not concern for himself, but concern for jiaoqiu. maybe he's hallucinating! he's clearly extremely unsteady despite the initial panic reaction, and he lurches a little as he frees up one hand and reaches out, just to - just to make sure, try to figure out if this is even real. ]
[ is his instinctive response, gentle, soothing. this is the worst he's ever seen him, and that's absolutely terrifying, it could choke him with the feeling. but he's a doctor. this is what he's made for. therion is alive, and that means that jiaoqiu can fix him. he will not lose someone else. he will not watch someone else he loves die. the panic that he's feeling is dull and hidden under the nihility, under the void that he wraps like a blanket around himself. just for now. just to function.
the fright on therion's face makes his heart squeeze and wither up into dust.
carefully, jiaoqiu takes his hand when therion lurches at him, and he holds it, shifting so that he can start to figure out how to pick therion up. he doesn't do it quite yet - just brings therion's hand up and rests it against his face. presses a kiss to his palm, and then lets it sit there against his cheek as he takes stock of these injuries. broken arm, some sort of injury at the front that he's putting pressure on. concussion, cuts. he's barely conscious. ]
Trust me, love. [ he murmurs, gentle. ] I know it's not safe, but I've handled it. It'll be alright.
[ he can carry him at least far enough to find somewhere to hide, to put him together. he has medical supplies in his bag. they just have to find somewhere to go, and they can't do that here, when someone could come looking for them. so, carefully, jiaoqiu slips his arms around therion and pulls him into a bridal carry. ]
[ there's blood on his hand where it touches jiaoqiu's face - his fingers are cold, palm is cold, and they twitch and curl as he holds his hand there, breath coming in short and sharp as he tries desperately to actually figure out what the fuck is going on. he's real, solid, and that's fucking terrifying in this shitty place he decided to spend time in. this was his own fault, righteously deserved, and the last thing he wants is jiaoqiu to get dragged into it, and he manages eye contact and then it fades away, the world threatening to go dark as he moves too much - this is distracting enough that jiaoqiu can examine him the best that he can. he could laugh. he could cry. he's not sure which.
but jiaoqiu says - trust me, love. and even like this, his heart lurches, uselessly, and in his basal instinct, beyond every fear he has, beyond the horrors of trust and what it's done, he slowly, slowly pulls his hand back, and manages a nod, hand dropping back down so he can put pressure back on whatever new stab wound in his gut gareth got on him. he nods, again, blurry and dark and tunneling, and he pitches himself out of the spot he's in with a grunt. with no grace, he falls, forward, just a few inches, but it's the most significant fall of his life, beyond the cliff face.
he falls right into where jiaoqiu's going to carry him, and puts his life in his hands.
therion is cold when jiaoqiu gathers him up. he's clearly been outside for a while, and the church did very few favors against the biting cold of northreach, and he struggles for a second to put his thoughts together, curling into the warmth like he's done hundreds of times, in that old ipc city, in the little room in sunshade. jiaoqiu's got it handled, he said. that doesn't quite make sense. ] How did...
[ jiaoqiu catches him, when he falls forward. of course he does, he's waiting to. ]
You and I owe Primrose a nice dinner and a night off.
[ he says soft, tucking therion close. he's so cold - jiaoqiu is useless for body heat, he's a bone of a thing, and he's never hated that so much as he does right now. but he tries to warm him up regardless, slow and easy. not too fast to shock his body, but not too slow to be too late. his fur will help when he can sit them down, he thinks distractedly, carrying therion out of the building. through the back, if he can find an easy exit, but if he can't, he will just break the fucking stained glass window by kicking through it, and climbing out with his prize, broken glass be damned.
off he goes. he's looking for anything. a shack, a house with someone who looks like they might be kind enough to take in a stranger, an abandoned building. he doesn't imagine the frightened villagers will want to allow someone with blood on their face into their home, but. maybe he'll get lucky.
he swallows hard. his vision narrows in and out again, and he has to take a deep breath. which doesn't exactly help the nausea, but he handles it. so, so careful, jiaoqiu holds therion tightly to his chest, and looks for a place to hide. ]
Keep breathing, darling. [ he murmurs against therion's hair. he maybe sounds weird - scared, but it's dull. he has to numb himself out. he's numbing himself out. ] I'll take care of your wounds as soon as I find shelter.
[ there is a back door! or, well, there's a spot where there's not a lot of rubble. it's a little rough, so he might get cut up by fallen glass and debris here and there, but jiaoqiu can make it out through the back of the church and out into northreach once more.
as for therion, a lot of these words slur together in the soup that is his very concussed brain at the moment - he's forcing himself to stay awake, which is more or less what he's been doing this entire time. if he passes out, that'll be bad. not like it was before, where passing out meant he might wake up any second to a smug face and a cockney accent before he died, which is the last thing he wants, but now it's just the medical principal of the thing. a small change, but a nice change nonetheless.
he listens to the rumble of jiaoqiu's voice, and keeps his eyes open, staring dully out into the cold. shelter. shelter... right. ]
Heath - [ there's a wet cough, and he grunts, screwing his eyes shut. in his fractured brain, he tells jiaoqiu that heathcote was the one who found a hiding place here. left an old car, a place to patch up and get out quickly, no matter how disapproving he had been when they met up. he does not explain any of this or finish his sentence, and instead just lifts a shaking hand to point in the correct direction. ] ... abandoned... house. Edge of town. White fence.
[ he'd have to pick the lock, but his tools are gone. therion makes a little face - even like this, he still manages to look cranky. ]
[ he's calm, but every so often - like when therion coughs - there's a violent stream of thoughts, of what he'd do to darius if he could. completely ruin him. strip him of all of his status, embarrass him publicly. toss him to the wolves off a cliff when he was completely humiliated. that's a nice thought. maybe he can do that once therion is recovering.
but he is present enough to follow directions. abandoned house, edge of town. white fence. he'll be able to find it easily enough. getting in is going to be a struggle, but it doesn't really matter. if he has to break a window, he'll do it. off he goes, holding therion tightly. he's not really made for carrying something this heavy for a long period of time - and therion isn't even heavy, he weighs like ten pounds soaking wet. he does it anyway. keeps an eye out for people following them, or looking at them.
they just need to get inside this house. don't pass out, he thinks, nosing a little at therion's hair. walks a little faster. don't go. ]
the house is unassuming enough, and the way there is quiet, too. he might have to duck around a building here and there - if therion hears someone coming, dazedly, he grabs onto jiaoqiu's clothes and tugs with his free hand, teeth gritted, trying to get him to go around a corner or something until the threat passes. even like this, he's aware, clinging with all of his might to his own survival, to making sure both him and jiaoqiu can get to that house. therion's survival instinct is as strong as ever, but it's for the both of them, now. heathcote had told him how stupid he was being. maybe now he's starting to really understand it.
as they make it to the little house, tucked away - in a stroke of irony it has a white picket fence - therion pushes himself up where jiaoqiu's holding him, enough that he can lift his other arm, slowly, carefully. he brings it up to the back of jiaoqiu's head, fingers catching lightly in his hair, curling some. it seems like he might just hold there, at first, but those thin, clever fingers of his find one of his hair sticks, and pull it out deftly.
he looks up when he does - and for a second, there's a look on his face that's a little more normal. almost a little smug. and then the movement makes him feel really dizzy again, and it fades, as he gestures to the door. go. ] Lock. Get me... down by the door.
[ he's so like, annoyed, every time that therion gets him to hide. he knows it's necessary, he knows they can't afford to be seen, but every second that they're out in the cold, there's more of a chance of complications. therion is good at staying awake, he's good at suppressing pain, but that will mean nothing if he bleeds out, or if a wound is too deep. he's so very aware that there is always a time limit. he doesn't know the extent of therion's injuries, but a stab wound is enough that he's a little frantic about getting somewhere safe.
it's kind of funny - therion thinks to have survival instinct for both of them, and that's a nice step forward, because jiaoqiu is not thinking about himself at all. jiaoqiu can rot, for all he cares.
there's a little hiss and some scolding noises when therion reaches to grab for his hair stick - but he doesn't stop him from doing it. instead, his ears pin back against his skull, and he moves to the door, crouching carefully to put therion at eye level with the lock. the problem, he's finding, is that when he reaches for the void, it is a little difficult to grasp. it was so easy, the last two weeks, when he was alone, but with therion in his arms, he feels so fucking awake.
jiaoqiu barely responds to the smug look, he's so distressed. the second therion has the door unlocked, he's going to go inside, slam the door behind them, and find the closest surface to lay therion out on. ]
this is all he really needs - the hair stick and some finagling. he fiddles around like an expert, one handed, slumps against the door when he's not leaning against jiaoqiu so he can hear the lock tumblers catch and click, and it only takes as long as it does because he's hurt. but, sure enough, the lock pops open and the door swings wide, and there are chain bolts on the back of the door that therion insists on locking once they're inside.
the abandoned house is just that. it's a little, one room thing with a bed and a couch and a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and not much else. it's cleaner than you might expect - thanks, heathcote - and therion grunts and tosses the hairpin on the ground as he's lowered down onto the couch or the bed, whichover one jiaoqiu prefers. that's about all the strength he has left, and he keeps his broken arm over his stomach and lolls his aching head to look at jiaoqiu, the usual green of his eye duller than usual, the other covered by the sticky, matted bangs on his face.
he's got nothing to say yet, but that's not that unusual - his teeth chatter a little, though, and he shuts his eyes and leans back against the cushions, trying to keep himself still and trying to get warm all at once. ]
and jiaoqiu doesn't say a word either. he just - gets to work. this is where it's easier to flatten out. he has to, for this. therion is dazed and has his eyes closed, but if he opens them at any point, he'll see jiaoqiu's gold eyes are flat, just a little distant. removed from the situation. because if he is, he doesn't have to focus on how therion's teeth are chattering and how faded out he looks.
it's clinical. off goes the shirt - he cuts it away, if necessary. the stab wound is first. he cleans it, makes sure it won't get infected. with steady hands and a needle and surgical thread, he stitches the stab wound shut. it doesn't take very long, really, he... insanely practiced at this, it's like it's nothing. cuts get cleaned, covered with gauze or with bandaids, if they're small enough. he gently cleans the blood from therion's skin with bottled water, and then - pauses.
sucks in a sharp breath. his ears tremble, his expression still flat. and then he starts to move again. need to - need to check his head wound. next. that's next. ]
[ the stab wound's not as bad as it could be - it doesn't seem like it hit anything particularly vital. it's likely he was in the most danger of bleeding out over anything else. after all, it was "dead or alive", and god knows darius would have liked to have the last word.
the hoodie's the zip up kind, easy to slide out of, though it's a loss, anyway. cut around the fabric and underneath, he's a mess of already forming bruises and other cuts, some thin, some sharp. he's got cuts on his hands, too, where it's clear he was trying to block something, and the majority of them look like they came from different weapons, like maybe he didn't lose a fight so much as he just became overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who came at him. throughout the process, therion's in and out - pain tolerance or not, there are moments when he's very, very quiet. he doesn't react as he's getting stitched, almost eerily still as he holds himself in place, takes in shallow breaths and tries to stay conscious. distantly, he can hear that flat, odd tone, and in his addled brain, it's hard to figure out what's wrong with it, but something's wrong with it.
when jiaoqiu moves again towards his head, he'll see therion's looking at him. there's still blood coming down his cheek, his fringe stuck in place, but he's staring at him - like he's trying to convince himself this is actually happening, that he's actually there, or... that he's observing him, trying to understand. ]
Jiaoqiu. [ he croaks, as he comes closer again. jiaoqiu, what? ]
[ he should feel something, seeing these wounds. he does, somewhere. somewhere, his heart breaks because the idea of all of these people coming at therion, trying to hurt him is overwhelming. therion alone and backed into a corner, all because he was trying to get away from jiaoqiu. it should hurt, it should make him wildly, frantically upset, but his whole emotional state can't handle that and make sure therion doesn't die. so it doesn't register, right now. it's all shut off.
the world is a million miles away. the only thing he can hear is therion's breathing. shallow, unhealthy. dying, probably.
he tilts therion's head to the side. his hand shakes slightly. that won't do. he stops, until his hand stops shaking, and then therion speaks up, and he glances at him. pauses again, so that he can try to split his attention. he's looking at therion's head wound, or head wounds, carefully unsticking his fringe to see the damage there. gingerly feeling for the cut or broken skin against the back of his skull, where he left blood on the pew.
(where he left blood on the pew where he could have slowly and surely died alone in the middle of a town far far away from jiaoqiu because he couldn't love an anchor) ]
Shh.
[ he says, instinctively. ]
Relax. I won't let you - you. [ he stutters. stops. tries again, voice soft. ] I won't let you die. Don't go to sleep, just yet. Do you need me to talk to you?
[ it looks like the majority of the bleeding might've actually come from the back of his head, because head wounds bleed a lot. he's okay - something up there's probably fractured, but whatever brain he has knocking around in his noggin is just bruised, not broken for good. bandages and stitches will help, though a little magic might help once triage is done.
under his bangs, it looks like someone stuck the tip of a knife into his scar and cut it back open - his eye's mostly shut, and the scar tissue oozes with blood, but it looks like it was something that was done on purpose. he's not really paying attention, just lets jiaoqiu take his head in his hands and move it around, lolls into his grip with relative ease, and just stares at him.
and the first thing he says to all of that, the stressed twinge and the numbness, words a little slurred but still coming out of his mouth -- ] 'm sorry.
[ because he is. because he's a fucking idiot. jiaoqiu came all the way here, he found him, and he's so beyond worthy of therion's trust. he is the best thing that's ever happened to him. finding people to rely on, people who are trustworthy and kind, is the only thing heals you when you're broken like he is.
but that's not all - he needs to say more, and his tongue feels like lead in his mouth, so he doesn't, for a moment longer, tries to actually process what he's saying. ]
[ there's another burst of fury that tries to break free, roars so loudly in his ears, at the sight of the scar being cut open. he freezes, when he sees it. sucks in a breath that sounds like it hurts, and he has to let go of therion because he's going to accidentally hurt him. the rest of it was fighting. a stab wound, a broken arm, a concussion. this was on purpose. cruelty, for the sake of cruelty - digging a knife into old wounds both physical and emotional.
he's going to burn them alive. he's going to find the leader and he's going to charm him, he's going to promise him all the coin in the world, a promotion, a comfortable lifestyle, he's going to really sell it. he's going to make that man think he won't ever have to steal anything again, and he's going to toast to it, and he's going to watch as the man froths and gurgles and is eaten from the inside out from the most insidious poison jiaoqiu can find.
silence, for a long moment, as he tries to wrench his emotions back, as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily through his nose, and empties out. the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, thudding wildly.
I'm sorry, therion says, and jiaoqiu says, stiffly: ]
I can't possibly imagine what you could be apologizing about, right now.
[ don't be mean. don't snap, you can't let the last thing you say to him be awful. run, moze. don't expect a meal when you come home, general. his head is full of static. ]
Turn your head. [ let him fix it. he has to fix this. ]
[ there's a lot to be apologizing for - even he knows that. the fact he had to come out here in the first place. the fact that jiaoqiu's always fixing him, and all he ever does is make it worse. physical wounds, sure, but the emotional scarring, too. he picks at it, prods at it, takes three steps forward and then stumbles backwards, or in this case, sprints the opposite direction. primrose told jiaoqiu when he spent the night and talked about it - He said all those things because he's afraid. and it was the truth.
he's not someone who minces his words, ever. he certainly never lies to cover things prettily, preferring not to speak at all or to make things worse, instead. and he's not someone who apologizes for no reason, either.
he falls silent after that, unaware of the truly rancid (sexy) inner thoughts jiaoqiu is currently having, just trying to make his brain work well enough to actually say something, for once in his life and failing. in the end, he turns his head as he's told, pressing his face a little into jiaoqiu's hand as he does, closing his eyes again. ]
Long list. [ of things to apologize for. the response is belated, as he lets jiaoqiu treat his head. he's going to be okay - he'll be damned if he lets this kill him, but it's another lesson for therion in hubris. in stupidity. he knows better than to be reckless, and yet, that's exactly what he did, harming himself for no reason other than to feel the hurt of the pain.
with his head down to make this process easier, he's a little dizzy. nauseous. he looks at the slowly spinning bedspread underneath him, and his thoughts spin along with it. ]
[ the headspace that jiaoqiu is in is thoroughly wrecked - he'll remember later what primrose told him, and remember that she had a point, but right now, the amount of stress of finding therion half dead has made him backslide so far that he's nearly drowning in the quicksand. the apology will register as something important when he's not covered in therion's blood.
he almost asks therion not to close his eyes, because it makes him feel like he's going to claw his way out of his own body, but he doesn't say anything. he just carefully, delicately tends to the head wound. cleans it. wraps a bandage gently but firmly around his head for now. cleans the scar, and he's so, so tender when he does. dabs it soft with disinfectant and presses gauze to it. his other hand rests on therion's cheek, stroking it with his thumb. he floats in and out of the void, trading between numb and furious. his head hurts. his throat feels tight.
the last thing is to set therion's broken arm. he positions it properly, and wraps it snugly against therion's chest. and then, carefully laying him back out, he pulls a blanket from his bag, settles it over therion, and uses the rest of his water to try and sponge away the caked blood on therion's face, in his hair. he's back to completely lights out, now, worn out. focused, because if his focus slips therion could expire and he would be to blame, but - otherwise, nobody's home. ]
[ as this goes on, therion is still and quiet - now that the bleeding has finally stopped, he's doing better. he'll turn the corner just fine, like anything else. it looks bad, but when he was a kid, he'd had worse. this just felt like an echo of those days, only this time, he had someone to pick him up and pull him out of a ditch, and he nearly let it get away.
there's a very gentle tremble when he's cleaning the injury on his face. it's not because it hurts- it doesn't. it's the tenderness with which jiaoqiu touches it, the intimacy of the way he cleans it, of the way he's stroked his thumb over it the first time therion let him see it. he lifts his good hand, slowly, and as jiaoqiu cleans, just sets his fingertips against the outside of his wrist. featherlight, barely touching, but he exhales out a little shakily and leaves them there until he pulls away to do the rest.
setting his arm gets a grunt of pain and a hissed swear, but there's no other reactions. his eyes open again, slowly, and he watches jiaoqiu what feels like from a distance, from underneath this blanket that smells like home, staring at him like he's a mirage, just. watching. watching as he cleans his away the blood, as soft and gentle as you can imagine, but floating away, and something in his throat clicks.
he swallows, hard, wades through the lead in his own brain, and tries to reach back out again, han coming up, grabbing his sleeve, anything, as he says again, trying for something more insistent. ] Jiaoqiu.
[ silence, for a long moment, as he drifts, and then - he registers the hand on his sleeve. for a second, he can hear the wind outside. a window rattling on the outside of the building. the shift of the blanket, fabric against skin. exhaustion hits him hard, makes him blink slowly, waver. he has to focus. the void is at his feet and he so desperately wants to crawl right into it, because feeling is awful and he wants it to stop.
but he doesn't. he glances at therion, and doesn't say anything. he feels like a mirage. like if therion pushed a little further he'd go right through him. therion is alive. he's going to be fine, he made sure of it, he stitched him up and he's talking, he's saying his name. jiaoqiu saved him. but - if he didn't. if this isn't real, if he's tending a body and his mind won't let him realize it, that - that could happen. it could be happening right now.
he wishes it didn't get like this, sometimes. he wishes he could be certain what is and isn't real. therion's hand has to be real. he stares down at it. ]
[ well. he's exhausted, and beat to hell, and missing a lot of blood but he's not stupid. he can tell jiaoqiu's going off into the void, because - well, he knows him, by now. he knows what that vacant look is, even through the haze of a concussion, where it hurts to think.
in reality, this is his fault. all of it - the living, breathing consequences of his decisions that hurt not just himself, but others, too. but there's no room in his injured head for self frustration, for blame, for anything. what there is is jiaoqiu, who saved his life, who came all the way here, who needs an anchor.
so. he lets go of his sleeve, but he reaches up farther. it's a little slow - up, up, until he can find the back of jiaoqiu's neck, fingers curling, as he gives an insistent tug. it's lacking strength, but he pulls, anyway, tries to pull him down. come here. come down here. ]
he doesn't resist. therion slowly curls his fingers around his neck, and there's no strength to the tugging but it doesn't matter. he goes, because he needs it, because he needs the physical reminder that he didn't lose this, too. carefully, not aggravating any of therion's wounds, he sinks down and curls around therion, resting his hand on the side of his face again, forehead to forehead.
and maybe, in the middle of it, he can accept that therion wants him to be present. that he's trying even when he's concussed to hell and back, when he's missing all his blood. he breathes in sharp, like a knife. exhales slow. tries to wake up. ]
in a sense, it's less clumsy than usual. there's no need to bluster, to be embarrassed about it, simply because he doesn't have the energy to do it. in his basal instinct, he can tell that jiaoqiu is drifting, and in his basal instinct, he can tell that this is how to help, and in his basal instinct, he wants to help jiaoqiu. because he cares about him, because he loves him, and the entire reason he left was because that idea terrified him.
forehead to forehead, it's gentle, barely a touch, so much softer than he'd ever reach for, but this is a safe harbor. jiaoqiu is a safe harbor. even if they're still in this terrible place, no one will find them here, and he doesn't have enough energy to be paranoid about it, either. ]
Talk. [ tiredly. ] Normally can't... get you to shut up.
[ there's a little of therion's normal therion - it's kind of a joke. but jiaoqiu said if he needed him to talk, he would, and jiaoqiu needs to talk for them both. ]
[ a beat, and then there's a huff. a little huff of laughter, something tired and wrung out. the anger is gone now, for the most part, and all that's left is his worry, which is slowly crawling up out of the void to settle heavy on his chest. therion talks to him. asks him to say something, and that helps. it's centering.
he pets therion absently. ]
... Are you sure you want me to? I'm not sure if it'll be screaming or scolding. [ he jokes, feebly. one step forward. one step up out of the muck. ]
that - okay, well, that makes him actually laugh, and this time it's a little hiccuppy, because the emotion it pulls out of him feels like a wave. he chokes just a little on it, but. recovers pretty fast, at least.
a bit of the tension in the way he holds himself evaporates from his shoulders. ]
Luckily for you, I don't have the energy. [ there's more life, in that. ] Nor do I have the strength to scold you, either.
[ despite everything, this feels - normal. and maybe that's what will ease the way later, too, when they get to the emotional issues beyond all of this, the fight, the distance, everything. like jiaoqiu's medical treatment, this right here is triage. you deal with the emergency before you deal with the rest.
therion doesn't laugh, but there's a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, and that will have to be enough.
as for painkillers, though, he starts to shake his head - then thinks better of it, because fucking ow, and then just grunts. ] 's fine. [ he doesn't need them. ] Don't... want to be out of it.
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but while his danger senses are fine tuned as ever, his body is certainly not, at the moment, and it takes him a second to actually process what he's looking at through blurred, dizzy vision, dark at the edges. therion looks... bad. something under his bangs is bleeding down his face, and there's a smear of blood on the back of the pew where his head was. his hoodie's cut up and torn and the raw skin underneath doesn't look much better - there are bruises on his jaw. one of his arms is at a funny angle, but he's placed it firmly over his gut along with the other, and his hands are now gripping hard at the edges of his hoodie, clearly holding pressure onto an injury. in other words, it looks like he's been beaten to shit. worse than jiaoqiu has certainly ever seen him. it's rare that therion loses a fight.
concussed, he stares at jiaoqiu like a wild animal, feral, poised. isn't this familiar? but this time, his first response isn't to snarl and run away: no, it's a moment of stunned, shocked silence, his expression flickering from defensive to realization - to confusion, and then to fright, briefly, as vulnerable as he's ever looked. therion realizes that the figure in front of him is not fucking gareth again, or any other of those jackasses, or even darius.
he hisses, from between his teeth, just barely able to - ] What're - get out... here, 's not - safe.
[ the first response here is not concern for himself, but concern for jiaoqiu. maybe he's hallucinating! he's clearly extremely unsteady despite the initial panic reaction, and he lurches a little as he frees up one hand and reaches out, just to - just to make sure, try to figure out if this is even real. ]
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[ is his instinctive response, gentle, soothing. this is the worst he's ever seen him, and that's absolutely terrifying, it could choke him with the feeling. but he's a doctor. this is what he's made for. therion is alive, and that means that jiaoqiu can fix him. he will not lose someone else. he will not watch someone else he loves die. the panic that he's feeling is dull and hidden under the nihility, under the void that he wraps like a blanket around himself. just for now. just to function.
the fright on therion's face makes his heart squeeze and wither up into dust.
carefully, jiaoqiu takes his hand when therion lurches at him, and he holds it, shifting so that he can start to figure out how to pick therion up. he doesn't do it quite yet - just brings therion's hand up and rests it against his face. presses a kiss to his palm, and then lets it sit there against his cheek as he takes stock of these injuries. broken arm, some sort of injury at the front that he's putting pressure on. concussion, cuts. he's barely conscious. ]
Trust me, love. [ he murmurs, gentle. ] I know it's not safe, but I've handled it. It'll be alright.
[ he can carry him at least far enough to find somewhere to hide, to put him together. he has medical supplies in his bag. they just have to find somewhere to go, and they can't do that here, when someone could come looking for them. so, carefully, jiaoqiu slips his arms around therion and pulls him into a bridal carry. ]
Put pressure back on your wound. I'm here.
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but jiaoqiu says - trust me, love. and even like this, his heart lurches, uselessly, and in his basal instinct, beyond every fear he has, beyond the horrors of trust and what it's done, he slowly, slowly pulls his hand back, and manages a nod, hand dropping back down so he can put pressure back on whatever new stab wound in his gut gareth got on him. he nods, again, blurry and dark and tunneling, and he pitches himself out of the spot he's in with a grunt. with no grace, he falls, forward, just a few inches, but it's the most significant fall of his life, beyond the cliff face.
he falls right into where jiaoqiu's going to carry him, and puts his life in his hands.
therion is cold when jiaoqiu gathers him up. he's clearly been outside for a while, and the church did very few favors against the biting cold of northreach, and he struggles for a second to put his thoughts together, curling into the warmth like he's done hundreds of times, in that old ipc city, in the little room in sunshade. jiaoqiu's got it handled, he said. that doesn't quite make sense. ] How did...
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You and I owe Primrose a nice dinner and a night off.
[ he says soft, tucking therion close. he's so cold - jiaoqiu is useless for body heat, he's a bone of a thing, and he's never hated that so much as he does right now. but he tries to warm him up regardless, slow and easy. not too fast to shock his body, but not too slow to be too late. his fur will help when he can sit them down, he thinks distractedly, carrying therion out of the building. through the back, if he can find an easy exit, but if he can't, he will just break the fucking stained glass window by kicking through it, and climbing out with his prize, broken glass be damned.
off he goes. he's looking for anything. a shack, a house with someone who looks like they might be kind enough to take in a stranger, an abandoned building. he doesn't imagine the frightened villagers will want to allow someone with blood on their face into their home, but. maybe he'll get lucky.
he swallows hard. his vision narrows in and out again, and he has to take a deep breath. which doesn't exactly help the nausea, but he handles it. so, so careful, jiaoqiu holds therion tightly to his chest, and looks for a place to hide. ]
Keep breathing, darling. [ he murmurs against therion's hair. he maybe sounds weird - scared, but it's dull. he has to numb himself out. he's numbing himself out. ] I'll take care of your wounds as soon as I find shelter.
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as for therion, a lot of these words slur together in the soup that is his very concussed brain at the moment - he's forcing himself to stay awake, which is more or less what he's been doing this entire time. if he passes out, that'll be bad. not like it was before, where passing out meant he might wake up any second to a smug face and a cockney accent before he died, which is the last thing he wants, but now it's just the medical principal of the thing. a small change, but a nice change nonetheless.
he listens to the rumble of jiaoqiu's voice, and keeps his eyes open, staring dully out into the cold. shelter. shelter... right. ]
Heath - [ there's a wet cough, and he grunts, screwing his eyes shut. in his fractured brain, he tells jiaoqiu that heathcote was the one who found a hiding place here. left an old car, a place to patch up and get out quickly, no matter how disapproving he had been when they met up. he does not explain any of this or finish his sentence, and instead just lifts a shaking hand to point in the correct direction. ] ... abandoned... house. Edge of town. White fence.
[ he'd have to pick the lock, but his tools are gone. therion makes a little face - even like this, he still manages to look cranky. ]
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[ he's calm, but every so often - like when therion coughs - there's a violent stream of thoughts, of what he'd do to darius if he could. completely ruin him. strip him of all of his status, embarrass him publicly. toss him to the wolves off a cliff when he was completely humiliated. that's a nice thought. maybe he can do that once therion is recovering.
but he is present enough to follow directions. abandoned house, edge of town. white fence. he'll be able to find it easily enough. getting in is going to be a struggle, but it doesn't really matter. if he has to break a window, he'll do it. off he goes, holding therion tightly. he's not really made for carrying something this heavy for a long period of time - and therion isn't even heavy, he weighs like ten pounds soaking wet. he does it anyway. keeps an eye out for people following them, or looking at them.
they just need to get inside this house. don't pass out, he thinks, nosing a little at therion's hair. walks a little faster. don't go. ]
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the house is unassuming enough, and the way there is quiet, too. he might have to duck around a building here and there - if therion hears someone coming, dazedly, he grabs onto jiaoqiu's clothes and tugs with his free hand, teeth gritted, trying to get him to go around a corner or something until the threat passes. even like this, he's aware, clinging with all of his might to his own survival, to making sure both him and jiaoqiu can get to that house. therion's survival instinct is as strong as ever, but it's for the both of them, now. heathcote had told him how stupid he was being. maybe now he's starting to really understand it.
as they make it to the little house, tucked away - in a stroke of irony it has a white picket fence - therion pushes himself up where jiaoqiu's holding him, enough that he can lift his other arm, slowly, carefully. he brings it up to the back of jiaoqiu's head, fingers catching lightly in his hair, curling some. it seems like he might just hold there, at first, but those thin, clever fingers of his find one of his hair sticks, and pull it out deftly.
he looks up when he does - and for a second, there's a look on his face that's a little more normal. almost a little smug. and then the movement makes him feel really dizzy again, and it fades, as he gestures to the door. go. ] Lock. Get me... down by the door.
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it's kind of funny - therion thinks to have survival instinct for both of them, and that's a nice step forward, because jiaoqiu is not thinking about himself at all. jiaoqiu can rot, for all he cares.
there's a little hiss and some scolding noises when therion reaches to grab for his hair stick - but he doesn't stop him from doing it. instead, his ears pin back against his skull, and he moves to the door, crouching carefully to put therion at eye level with the lock. the problem, he's finding, is that when he reaches for the void, it is a little difficult to grasp. it was so easy, the last two weeks, when he was alone, but with therion in his arms, he feels so fucking awake.
jiaoqiu barely responds to the smug look, he's so distressed. the second therion has the door unlocked, he's going to go inside, slam the door behind them, and find the closest surface to lay therion out on. ]
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this is all he really needs - the hair stick and some finagling. he fiddles around like an expert, one handed, slumps against the door when he's not leaning against jiaoqiu so he can hear the lock tumblers catch and click, and it only takes as long as it does because he's hurt. but, sure enough, the lock pops open and the door swings wide, and there are chain bolts on the back of the door that therion insists on locking once they're inside.
the abandoned house is just that. it's a little, one room thing with a bed and a couch and a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and not much else. it's cleaner than you might expect - thanks, heathcote - and therion grunts and tosses the hairpin on the ground as he's lowered down onto the couch or the bed, whichover one jiaoqiu prefers. that's about all the strength he has left, and he keeps his broken arm over his stomach and lolls his aching head to look at jiaoqiu, the usual green of his eye duller than usual, the other covered by the sticky, matted bangs on his face.
he's got nothing to say yet, but that's not that unusual - his teeth chatter a little, though, and he shuts his eyes and leans back against the cushions, trying to keep himself still and trying to get warm all at once. ]
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and jiaoqiu doesn't say a word either. he just - gets to work. this is where it's easier to flatten out. he has to, for this. therion is dazed and has his eyes closed, but if he opens them at any point, he'll see jiaoqiu's gold eyes are flat, just a little distant. removed from the situation. because if he is, he doesn't have to focus on how therion's teeth are chattering and how faded out he looks.
it's clinical. off goes the shirt - he cuts it away, if necessary. the stab wound is first. he cleans it, makes sure it won't get infected. with steady hands and a needle and surgical thread, he stitches the stab wound shut. it doesn't take very long, really, he... insanely practiced at this, it's like it's nothing. cuts get cleaned, covered with gauze or with bandaids, if they're small enough. he gently cleans the blood from therion's skin with bottled water, and then - pauses.
sucks in a sharp breath. his ears tremble, his expression still flat. and then he starts to move again. need to - need to check his head wound. next. that's next. ]
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the hoodie's the zip up kind, easy to slide out of, though it's a loss, anyway. cut around the fabric and underneath, he's a mess of already forming bruises and other cuts, some thin, some sharp. he's got cuts on his hands, too, where it's clear he was trying to block something, and the majority of them look like they came from different weapons, like maybe he didn't lose a fight so much as he just became overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who came at him. throughout the process, therion's in and out - pain tolerance or not, there are moments when he's very, very quiet. he doesn't react as he's getting stitched, almost eerily still as he holds himself in place, takes in shallow breaths and tries to stay conscious. distantly, he can hear that flat, odd tone, and in his addled brain, it's hard to figure out what's wrong with it, but something's wrong with it.
when jiaoqiu moves again towards his head, he'll see therion's looking at him. there's still blood coming down his cheek, his fringe stuck in place, but he's staring at him - like he's trying to convince himself this is actually happening, that he's actually there, or... that he's observing him, trying to understand. ]
Jiaoqiu. [ he croaks, as he comes closer again. jiaoqiu, what? ]
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the world is a million miles away. the only thing he can hear is therion's breathing. shallow, unhealthy. dying, probably.
he tilts therion's head to the side. his hand shakes slightly. that won't do. he stops, until his hand stops shaking, and then therion speaks up, and he glances at him. pauses again, so that he can try to split his attention. he's looking at therion's head wound, or head wounds, carefully unsticking his fringe to see the damage there. gingerly feeling for the cut or broken skin against the back of his skull, where he left blood on the pew.
(where he left blood on the pew where he could have slowly and surely died alone in the middle of a town far far away from jiaoqiu because he couldn't love an anchor) ]
Shh.
[ he says, instinctively. ]
Relax. I won't let you - you. [ he stutters. stops. tries again, voice soft. ] I won't let you die. Don't go to sleep, just yet. Do you need me to talk to you?
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under his bangs, it looks like someone stuck the tip of a knife into his scar and cut it back open - his eye's mostly shut, and the scar tissue oozes with blood, but it looks like it was something that was done on purpose. he's not really paying attention, just lets jiaoqiu take his head in his hands and move it around, lolls into his grip with relative ease, and just stares at him.
and the first thing he says to all of that, the stressed twinge and the numbness, words a little slurred but still coming out of his mouth -- ] 'm sorry.
[ because he is. because he's a fucking idiot. jiaoqiu came all the way here, he found him, and he's so beyond worthy of therion's trust. he is the best thing that's ever happened to him. finding people to rely on, people who are trustworthy and kind, is the only thing heals you when you're broken like he is.
but that's not all - he needs to say more, and his tongue feels like lead in his mouth, so he doesn't, for a moment longer, tries to actually process what he's saying. ]
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he's going to burn them alive. he's going to find the leader and he's going to charm him, he's going to promise him all the coin in the world, a promotion, a comfortable lifestyle, he's going to really sell it. he's going to make that man think he won't ever have to steal anything again, and he's going to toast to it, and he's going to watch as the man froths and gurgles and is eaten from the inside out from the most insidious poison jiaoqiu can find.
silence, for a long moment, as he tries to wrench his emotions back, as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily through his nose, and empties out. the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, thudding wildly.
I'm sorry, therion says, and jiaoqiu says, stiffly: ]
I can't possibly imagine what you could be apologizing about, right now.
[ don't be mean. don't snap, you can't let the last thing you say to him be awful. run, moze. don't expect a meal when you come home, general. his head is full of static. ]
Turn your head. [ let him fix it. he has to fix this. ]
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he's not someone who minces his words, ever. he certainly never lies to cover things prettily, preferring not to speak at all or to make things worse, instead. and he's not someone who apologizes for no reason, either.
he falls silent after that, unaware of the truly rancid (sexy) inner thoughts jiaoqiu is currently having, just trying to make his brain work well enough to actually say something, for once in his life and failing. in the end, he turns his head as he's told, pressing his face a little into jiaoqiu's hand as he does, closing his eyes again. ]
Long list. [ of things to apologize for. the response is belated, as he lets jiaoqiu treat his head. he's going to be okay - he'll be damned if he lets this kill him, but it's another lesson for therion in hubris. in stupidity. he knows better than to be reckless, and yet, that's exactly what he did, harming himself for no reason other than to feel the hurt of the pain.
with his head down to make this process easier, he's a little dizzy. nauseous. he looks at the slowly spinning bedspread underneath him, and his thoughts spin along with it. ]
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he almost asks therion not to close his eyes, because it makes him feel like he's going to claw his way out of his own body, but he doesn't say anything. he just carefully, delicately tends to the head wound. cleans it. wraps a bandage gently but firmly around his head for now. cleans the scar, and he's so, so tender when he does. dabs it soft with disinfectant and presses gauze to it. his other hand rests on therion's cheek, stroking it with his thumb. he floats in and out of the void, trading between numb and furious. his head hurts. his throat feels tight.
the last thing is to set therion's broken arm. he positions it properly, and wraps it snugly against therion's chest. and then, carefully laying him back out, he pulls a blanket from his bag, settles it over therion, and uses the rest of his water to try and sponge away the caked blood on therion's face, in his hair. he's back to completely lights out, now, worn out. focused, because if his focus slips therion could expire and he would be to blame, but - otherwise, nobody's home. ]
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there's a very gentle tremble when he's cleaning the injury on his face. it's not because it hurts- it doesn't. it's the tenderness with which jiaoqiu touches it, the intimacy of the way he cleans it, of the way he's stroked his thumb over it the first time therion let him see it. he lifts his good hand, slowly, and as jiaoqiu cleans, just sets his fingertips against the outside of his wrist. featherlight, barely touching, but he exhales out a little shakily and leaves them there until he pulls away to do the rest.
setting his arm gets a grunt of pain and a hissed swear, but there's no other reactions. his eyes open again, slowly, and he watches jiaoqiu what feels like from a distance, from underneath this blanket that smells like home, staring at him like he's a mirage, just. watching. watching as he cleans his away the blood, as soft and gentle as you can imagine, but floating away, and something in his throat clicks.
he swallows, hard, wades through the lead in his own brain, and tries to reach back out again, han coming up, grabbing his sleeve, anything, as he says again, trying for something more insistent. ] Jiaoqiu.
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but he doesn't. he glances at therion, and doesn't say anything. he feels like a mirage. like if therion pushed a little further he'd go right through him. therion is alive. he's going to be fine, he made sure of it, he stitched him up and he's talking, he's saying his name. jiaoqiu saved him. but - if he didn't. if this isn't real, if he's tending a body and his mind won't let him realize it, that - that could happen. it could be happening right now.
he wishes it didn't get like this, sometimes. he wishes he could be certain what is and isn't real. therion's hand has to be real. he stares down at it. ]
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in reality, this is his fault. all of it - the living, breathing consequences of his decisions that hurt not just himself, but others, too. but there's no room in his injured head for self frustration, for blame, for anything. what there is is jiaoqiu, who saved his life, who came all the way here, who needs an anchor.
so. he lets go of his sleeve, but he reaches up farther. it's a little slow - up, up, until he can find the back of jiaoqiu's neck, fingers curling, as he gives an insistent tug. it's lacking strength, but he pulls, anyway, tries to pull him down. come here. come down here. ]
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he doesn't resist. therion slowly curls his fingers around his neck, and there's no strength to the tugging but it doesn't matter. he goes, because he needs it, because he needs the physical reminder that he didn't lose this, too. carefully, not aggravating any of therion's wounds, he sinks down and curls around therion, resting his hand on the side of his face again, forehead to forehead.
and maybe, in the middle of it, he can accept that therion wants him to be present. that he's trying even when he's concussed to hell and back, when he's missing all his blood. he breathes in sharp, like a knife. exhales slow. tries to wake up. ]
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in a sense, it's less clumsy than usual. there's no need to bluster, to be embarrassed about it, simply because he doesn't have the energy to do it. in his basal instinct, he can tell that jiaoqiu is drifting, and in his basal instinct, he can tell that this is how to help, and in his basal instinct, he wants to help jiaoqiu. because he cares about him, because he loves him, and the entire reason he left was because that idea terrified him.
forehead to forehead, it's gentle, barely a touch, so much softer than he'd ever reach for, but this is a safe harbor. jiaoqiu is a safe harbor. even if they're still in this terrible place, no one will find them here, and he doesn't have enough energy to be paranoid about it, either. ]
Talk. [ tiredly. ] Normally can't... get you to shut up.
[ there's a little of therion's normal therion - it's kind of a joke. but jiaoqiu said if he needed him to talk, he would, and jiaoqiu needs to talk for them both. ]
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he pets therion absently. ]
... Are you sure you want me to? I'm not sure if it'll be screaming or scolding. [ he jokes, feebly. one step forward. one step up out of the muck. ]
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[ is he joking
its hard to tell ]
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that - okay, well, that makes him actually laugh, and this time it's a little hiccuppy, because the emotion it pulls out of him feels like a wave. he chokes just a little on it, but. recovers pretty fast, at least.
a bit of the tension in the way he holds himself evaporates from his shoulders. ]
Luckily for you, I don't have the energy. [ there's more life, in that. ] Nor do I have the strength to scold you, either.
[ ... ]
I have painkillers. Do you want them?
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therion doesn't laugh, but there's a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, and that will have to be enough.
as for painkillers, though, he starts to shake his head - then thinks better of it, because fucking ow, and then just grunts. ] 's fine. [ he doesn't need them. ] Don't... want to be out of it.
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