Desmond Miles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shutupandgetintheanimus) wrote2015-02-23 05:34 pm
shutupandgetintheanimus) wrote2015-02-23 05:34 pm
Get Thee To An Aviary (closed to 1605gunpowderplot)
Desmond remembered the orb. The electric pains shooting up his arm, into his shoulders and back, the pulaes that made his legs shake and his teeth chatter. How he was able to focus, to bend the damn thing to his will and make it raise the shields that the precursors left behind, he didn't know. He was out after that. He thought he heard Juno, briefly, then the others. Then nothing. Nothing but the most dreamless, restful sleep he'd had in a long time.
Juno and Minerva had been wrong. He was still alive. But the deep, throbbing pain in his back and shoulders that greeted him as he awakened? He wished they'd been right.
He groaned, eyes half-lidded as he lifted his head off the pillow. He'd been sleeping on his stomach. "Fuck..." he croaked out. His throat was dry, lips cracked. His brain was still in a haze of too much sleep and not enough food or water. He attempted to push himself up off the mattress, to get his bearings, but the tingling pain in his right arm and the stiffness in his shoulders nipped that idea in the bud. Desmond winced as he lowered himself back down.
At the very least he managed to pry his eyes open enough to stare at the bandages wrapped around his arm. It had been burned, he remembered. Not as bad as it could have been, probably. Still, second-degree burns weren't fun.
Juno and Minerva had been wrong. He was still alive. But the deep, throbbing pain in his back and shoulders that greeted him as he awakened? He wished they'd been right.
He groaned, eyes half-lidded as he lifted his head off the pillow. He'd been sleeping on his stomach. "Fuck..." he croaked out. His throat was dry, lips cracked. His brain was still in a haze of too much sleep and not enough food or water. He attempted to push himself up off the mattress, to get his bearings, but the tingling pain in his right arm and the stiffness in his shoulders nipped that idea in the bud. Desmond winced as he lowered himself back down.
At the very least he managed to pry his eyes open enough to stare at the bandages wrapped around his arm. It had been burned, he remembered. Not as bad as it could have been, probably. Still, second-degree burns weren't fun.
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Shaun leaned forward again, almost like he wanted to go over and wrap a wing around Desmond, to actually make the attempt to soothe him like he might a frightened chick, but actually doing so was an action that never materialized. For one thing, it would have been intensely awkward for them both, but it didn't stop him from feeling entirely useless and unhelpful just sitting by and watching like he expected Desmond to keel over at any second.
Still. He was trying to distract the man, no use wallowing in his own inability to meaningfully assist with this particular problem. Shaun twitched his wing back again from where it had sneakily started moving away from where he'd tucked it behind him only moments ago, and tried for a casual shrug. "I suppose now that it's all over, there's nothing stopping you from going and looking her up, yeah? As far as I know, we've actually got a bit of time on our hands at the moment. Might even have time for a real vacation."
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It's going too fast. I can feel them growing... Jesus Christ these things are going to kill me.
"He... He never got a real burial, not really. He's still there. He never left Masyaf."
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His options had become rather limited, at this point, and though it felt extremely weird to do so, Shaun pushed off from the chair and grabbed for the pills again before clambering onto the bed himself and arranging himself in front of Desmond, legs folded and wings half spread as if the internal temptation to wrap them around his fellow Assassin had decided to follow through on that impulse without his brain's permission.
"Keep breathing, you're fine--" He probably wasn't at all, but Shaun knew that saying so likely wouldn't help at this point, and if they could manage a bizarre sort of denial for the time being maybe it would help. "And while I agree that Masyaf could be a fascinating place to visit, I was thinking more along the lines of beaches and warm climates and free drinks, yeah?"
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He wasn't fine. Not really. And he suspected Shaun knew that. "Yeah. Yeah, I could go for a beach. Just sit in the bar and down four mojitos." He laughed. It was bitter, strained. "If these damn things don't kill me first."
It slowed, finally. The pain. The sensations of bone and muscle growing, changing. It all quieted, lay dormant. A look at Desmond's deformed back would be the proof. The wings sat in his back in enormous lumps, folded up awkwardly under his skin. But at least it was stopped.
Desmond relaxed slowly. He leaned forward to alleviate the ache in his back, his head almost touching Shaun's chest. "...Call my dad," he managed to choke out. "Please."
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"Right. Your dad. Of course." Shit. He'd been apparently doing worse than he'd thought about being reassuring, and Shaun's estimation of his own skills had been dismally low from the start.
He fumbled the phone from his trouser pocket and dialed, trying to to stare too much at the way Desmond's back had deformed, which left looking up at the ceiling as his best choice. He'd be damned if he was going to admit to being scared, though, and Shaun's voice was as normal and even as he could manage under the circumstances.
"It's Shaun. Yes, obviously, I wouldn't--it's just that your son is awake." He paused, and reached out to pat Desmond's head, soft and entirely too awkward, but he knew what the conversation must sound like from Desmond's perspective as Bill started to demand answers in his ear. "There are some complications. Not life-threatening, no, but you ought to head back as soon as possible."