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writetomyheart2019-03-01 10:41 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2019-03-01 10:41 pm
[team sonic] zephyr
I actually meant to write this for the last sonic, but didn’t find the time. A friend was going to do a bit of sprinting now though, so I thought I might as well.
Starting words from Fire Meet Nitroglycerin.
He wants to hurt something, someone, but the people who did this are out of reach. Bill grits his teeth, swallows the anger down, and thanks the healer who showed him to the room. His eyes follow the sweep of their robes, so strange after getting used to scrubs. It's just an excuse though, anything not to have to look at Tom.
If this were a nomaj—no, a muggle—hospital, he'd be accompanied by the beeping of machines, some kind of reassurance that his friend is still alive. Here, all Bill has to go on is the fact that no one has come running, prompted by monitoring spells that he can't decipher. Is pink good or bad? To what rhythm is the wave pulsing? Tom breathes in and out, in and out, and there's no respirator or hiss of oxygen, just the rising and falling of a chest, in a pattern too artificial to be unassisted.
Bill curls his fingers more tightly, fingernails biting into palms for a moment before he takes a deep breath, makes himself let go.
“I know,” he says. “You always tell me to stop making things so serious.”
Tom doesn't say anything, of course, and Bill leans against the wall, closing his eyes.
The silence is interrupted only a few breaths later by the sound of hot air, rushing like something is burning, and Bill’s instincts rush in, catapulting him out into the hallway.
“What—oh.” There's a kid just outside the doorway of the next room, the shimmering air around him indicating some kind of shield spell. There's a harried-looking attendant hovering next to him, and Bill suspects that a scolding is forthcoming.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, grateful for the distraction, even as he sends Tom a silent apology over his shoulder.
“Penny just needed a bit of a breather,” the kid says, eyeing the attendant as he turns to Bill. He's about to ask who or what Penny is, but the tiny mouse that pokes their furry head out of the kid’s sleeve is a pretty good clue.
The attendant sighs, somehow shooing the kid back into the room without touching him.
“Please, Philip, you really can't leave the reinforced wards until the healers have figured out the counterspell,” the attendant says. “We don't want to risk you setting something else on fire.” Philip sighs, his expression so glum that Bill almost chuckles.
“Cheer up, kid,” he says, and then thinks about Tom, back in his room. “At least you're not stuck in bed.”
Philip looks up at him, and blinks. “I guess you're right,” he says, and flashes Bill a flicker of a smile before disappearing back into his presumably heavily warded room. Bill nods, leaning against the wall of the hallway, and listens to the echoing sounds of his footsteps disappear abruptly past the threshold, between one second and the next.
Starting words from Fire Meet Nitroglycerin.
He wants to hurt something, someone, but the people who did this are out of reach. Bill grits his teeth, swallows the anger down, and thanks the healer who showed him to the room. His eyes follow the sweep of their robes, so strange after getting used to scrubs. It's just an excuse though, anything not to have to look at Tom.
If this were a nomaj—no, a muggle—hospital, he'd be accompanied by the beeping of machines, some kind of reassurance that his friend is still alive. Here, all Bill has to go on is the fact that no one has come running, prompted by monitoring spells that he can't decipher. Is pink good or bad? To what rhythm is the wave pulsing? Tom breathes in and out, in and out, and there's no respirator or hiss of oxygen, just the rising and falling of a chest, in a pattern too artificial to be unassisted.
Bill curls his fingers more tightly, fingernails biting into palms for a moment before he takes a deep breath, makes himself let go.
“I know,” he says. “You always tell me to stop making things so serious.”
Tom doesn't say anything, of course, and Bill leans against the wall, closing his eyes.
The silence is interrupted only a few breaths later by the sound of hot air, rushing like something is burning, and Bill’s instincts rush in, catapulting him out into the hallway.
“What—oh.” There's a kid just outside the doorway of the next room, the shimmering air around him indicating some kind of shield spell. There's a harried-looking attendant hovering next to him, and Bill suspects that a scolding is forthcoming.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, grateful for the distraction, even as he sends Tom a silent apology over his shoulder.
“Penny just needed a bit of a breather,” the kid says, eyeing the attendant as he turns to Bill. He's about to ask who or what Penny is, but the tiny mouse that pokes their furry head out of the kid’s sleeve is a pretty good clue.
The attendant sighs, somehow shooing the kid back into the room without touching him.
“Please, Philip, you really can't leave the reinforced wards until the healers have figured out the counterspell,” the attendant says. “We don't want to risk you setting something else on fire.” Philip sighs, his expression so glum that Bill almost chuckles.
“Cheer up, kid,” he says, and then thinks about Tom, back in his room. “At least you're not stuck in bed.”
Philip looks up at him, and blinks. “I guess you're right,” he says, and flashes Bill a flicker of a smile before disappearing back into his presumably heavily warded room. Bill nods, leaning against the wall of the hallway, and listens to the echoing sounds of his footsteps disappear abruptly past the threshold, between one second and the next.