damned_institute | Nightshift 26: Hallway Outside M1

Renji wasn't particularly enamored with the idea of regaining consciousness. It just seemed like an unpleasant prospect, and now everything was incredibly confusing as well. He felt dizzy, disoriented, and then there was Rukia's voice, and what on earth was she doing there, and what'd...

Shunpou. Rukia. I remember...

He latched on the first thing that made sense of what he had, cracking an eye open. His voice was a sleepy, slurred murmur, the tone one he hadn't used since his younger days, when they'd been in the academy and relatively care free. "You shouldn't go trippin' someone tha's doin' shunpou," he mumbled. "So mean t'your best friend." He finally got himself to focus, and man, she looked so upset, maybe she really did feel bad, and he shouldn't be mean. He smiled; it all felt a bit strange, like there was something he was missing out on, but he gamely dragged one wavering hand up, finger extended, and managed to poke her on the end of the nose with it on the second try. "Beep."

That was the point where the headache hit him, and while things started to make more sense - they weren't in the academy, of course, that was stupid what was he thinking? - he had more important things to deal with. He rolled away from Rukia and got down to the serious business of throwing up.

River tried to laugh again, losing something of a grip on reality, and despite popular belief, she'd always had a fairly firm grip on it. Sometimes too firm. Farfie. Saint Farfie was patching her up and healing her wounds. Surely her mind had been lost.

"Renji's lost his lunch! What he gets for getting so drunk..." she continued on, not answering Farfarello's question directly. Not permanent damage. Maybe broken bones. A field of them, sharp and pointy on some ends. He'd catch himself splinters.

"He's coming!" she exclaimed somewhat joyfully, trying to look and crane her neck down the hallway. The girl-weapon winced and bit her lip, not crying out because swords didn't cry. Wasn't in their nature. "Hole's a trouble. Can't sentence properly..."

Farfarello swore yet again when Renji vomited, and put himself between River and the spill of fluids--he couldn't have her wound getting contaminated.

"Went right through ribs... amazing piece of work, that sword. This is going to hurt, River girl." Gently, Farfarello put pressure on the area around the wound, his fingers feeling for the broken ribs and avoiding touching them directly; if her lung wasn't punctured now it would be stupid to puncture it himself with a broken rib. But veins were not isolated islands of blood, the bleeding could be stopped higher up, beyond the actual wound itself.

Having been vaguely listening to what else was going on around them, Farfarello had picked up on some of Daemon's wording. "You, snarly. You can heal? Do it, then. Broken ribs, here and here," Farfarello said crisply, pointing to the areas he felt weakness in the rib cage, "internal and external bleeding. Get the internal bleeding first, set the ribs if you can. Leave the outer wounds, so you don't run out of juice. Can you do anything else? Make, say, a hollow tube of some kind? Or know where one is?"

Farfarello was thinking quickly and his next question was directed to River herself. "What's your blood type, River? What kind of wine is it? I know it's red, but what type is it? A? B? O? AB? It's important." If Daemon could just make or find some kind of tube, and River's blood type was compatible, Farfarello could do a ghetto/Victorian blood transfusion.

Daemon listened to what needed healed, knowing that wold make his job easier. Luckily, Rukia had come along to heal Renji so he still had most of his power, but Healing Craft always took more of his strength than normal Craft, unless it was dealing with poisons. It wasn't is area of expertise, far from it. He was a killer, not a healer, but at least he'd learned the basics, after shedding so much blood on past battlefields. He'd do what he could, though.

Leaving the stranger to distract River with talk of blood types - what was that? Daemon had never hard of such a thing. Blood was Blood, wasn't it? - he knelt over River, his hands coming to examine the places the male had indicated.

The injuries pulsed hotly beneath his fingers and once again, Daemon started the draining descent into the Darkness, summoning what magic he had to the surface to knit bone and blood and flesh back together.

"Just hold still for me, Lady," he murmured, his husky voice slightly strained as sweat beaded on his forehead from concentration, slipping down his cheek as he channeled all the energy he dared into the healing web.

Rukia's eyes popped open (that was a bad idea, because it hurt a lot) at the childish tone of Renji's voice, and for a moment she thought that she must have passed out. She stared at him, eyes wet, as his finger poked her clumsily in the cheek, then the nose. And then he said, "Beep."

If he hadn't immediately turned away to puke, Rukia really would have been convinced that she was dreaming or drunk. As it was, she was having diffiulty separating reality from the burning pain shotting through her with every beath. She had really done a number on this gigai.

Concentrating, she listened to what the others were saying. She had to stay conscious, because River was still hurt. So much blood... One of the men was speaking, needed a tube. Wincing in pain, Rukia removed one hand from Renji's chest to retrieve a pen from her pocket. "Here," she said to the scarred one, and tossed it to him. "You can... make a tube."

Soaked in sweat, Rukia closed her eyes again, relying on her hands to tell her that Renji was still there, and he was warm now, moving. One hand fisted into his shirt as she tried to gather the strength she would need to heal River.

It just figured, that he'd finally eaten a meal today, only to throw it back up. The majority of the vomit was still blood, however, which was almost nice. It masked the taste. He took a few deep breaths once he was done; it'd been pretty quick, at least. The fading pain from his injuries, the blinding headache, and the people around him all reminded him what'd happen, even if a few things were still a bit confused. (Like, where had Rukia come from?)

River needed healing... but he was in no condition to do it. He'd expended every possible ounce of energy on the flashstep. Daemon... he thought Daemon could do it, that's what it sounded like, anyway. And now Rukia felt so weak, so tired, because... she'd been the one to heal him.

Renji wiped his nose and mouth on the back of his hand, then rubbed the blood off on his pants as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He made sure to keep his breaths slow and even. As close as they were, he could feel what Rukia was trying to do, and guess why. He reached out and grabbed her by the shirt, dragging her in to his lap. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, bowing his head to rest one cheek against the top of her head. "Stop it," he said. "Let Daemon handle it." He managed a soft, tired laugh. "I don't really feel up to carrying you right now."

Caim set one foot outside the cell block and immediately smelled blood and bile.

Looking around, it wasn't hard to see the source of it all - there was a five-person group not too far away, with two bleeding horrifically on the floor while the other three struggled to keep them from dying. They all looked injured or at the very least completely exhausted.

What had happened?

On closer inspection, it didn't look like anybody was the antagonist. They were all struggling to live, here. And there were no bloodstains trailing in from another hall, leading to the source of the fights - how had they gotten here? Considering the amount of blood now ...

Caim carefully came closer, avoiding the blood puddles and the healers, giving Farfarello a harsh look. You draw me out into a mess of hysterics? I can't heal these people.

Farfarello looked up briefly as Caim entered the hall. For a moment he was confused as to why the other man was even approaching the mess, but then he remembered the note he had left. "Shit. Sorry, Caim, I got caught up in this. I might be a while. If you want to check out the guy that did this, he's in the Sun Room. He's dangerous, and watch out for his sword--it can extend suddenly to a much greater length.

"Otherwise, that storage room I mentioned is on the second floor, the hallway farthest from the patient rooms side. Don't know if anyone else has been up there tonight, or what's left, but you can check it out if you want." And that was about all the attention Farfarello could spare for Caim, at the moment.

Caim narrowed his eye at Farfarello, but given the situation, the smartest thing for him to do would be just to leave. Until things cleared up, in any case.

He nodded and turned away, making for (after a sharp deliberation with himself) where he knew the stairs to be. Yes, he was dying for a chance at a decent fight, but if he was unarmed, there was no point. He'd be killed immediately. And Farfarello had mentioned where to find weaponry ...

[Renji and Rukia temporarily moved to here]

River felt the pain of the pressure, drawing in her breath in a hissing gasp that ended up evolving into a delirious giggle. So many people all around... It was like it was her birthday! Finally of legal age to consume alcohol, and here they were fortunate enough to have a girl who produced wine. Birthdays and funerals. Girls and dolls.

River reached up to grasp Daemon's wrist with one hand, shaking her head and unable to say anything more. There was a thick haze, but she could feel him pulling too much and investing so much energy. He had his own mission, and energy wasted on a broken doll was just that.

So many voices and faces... Why were they all fading together? Melting and mingling. Hadn't someone asked her an important question?

River held her other hand up, forming an "O" with her thumb and index finger as her eyelids fluttered.

Farfarello was so tempted to slap River, to see if that would make her make sense, but fortunately he decided against it, in the end. Type O. That was a good start, but... "O+ or O-, River?" He was not yelling at her, really, he was just asking somewhat loudly. The odds were very good that she was, indeed, O+ as that was typically the most common blood type in caucasians, with O- (and every RH- blood type, for that matter) being quite rare, but if at all possible Farfarello would rather be sure than have to play the odds.

"Stay AWAKE, River. No going to sleep. You know that. What dreams may come, must give you pause, right?" He skipped the middle of that quote, not wanting to say the part about shuffling off the mortal coil because that seemed like inviting bad luck. Still, he'd say almost anything to keep River from letting go and sliding into unconsciousness; Schuldig would be impossible to deal with if River died.

Daemon clasped River's wrist with his free hand, his other still poised over her injury as he mentally wove the healing web, drawing on all the power he had available to him. It would leave him drained, but it would seal the wound, would stop the bleeding. He had to hope the others could take care of her from there.

Slowly, the bleeding eased, then stopped, as flesh mended itself, the girl's body healing in response to the magic he poured through her. It wasn't a perfect heal, she would have a scar, but it was the best he could do.

Face pale and clammy, he gasped for breath as the wound closed completely and he sank back on his heels, trembling and swaying slightly as the room spun about him. He paid it little attention, though. Wiping sweat from his eyes, he peered down at the girl on the floor, hoping he'd been in time this time.

His hands were coated in blood. Again. But this time at least he'd been able to stop it from spilling her life on the floor and tearing her away forever.

His own energy spent, realities blurred as he stared down at the girl on the floor. Her hair was the wrong color, but her blood was just as red. His fingers tightened slightly about her wrist - not painful, merely secure. "I can't lose you again," he whispered, his voice harsh and breaking as golden eyes searched her face, seeing someone else.

"Positive," the girl mumbled sleepily, but she wouldn't pass out. The light at the end of the tunnel, it wasn't her light to follow. It wasn't her time. "Can't go to sleep anyway. Too many scary monsters in there. You know, right? Saint Farfie's a hero. Owes him at least 27 pieces of silver and tear drops."

River could feel her eyes tearing up as the pain didn't seem so much anymore, at least not the physical pain. Causing grief and sewing sorrow again. She had problems with that sometimes, the nature of the beast that lived inside her head. Expending too much that it had made him delirious. She wasn't River anymore, she was her. And maybe somewhere in her mixed-up, jumbled brains, she became her for that second because that was who he saw.

"You won't. It'll take a lot more. A lot more." River smiled, maybe smiling a smile like she used to smile if her instincts were correct. "I'll always be here." Because even if she wasn't, even if she couldn't be, maybe that was what Daemon needed to hear.

Saint. Farfie. Farfarello's eye twitched, at that, and his shoulders tensed right up. "DO NOT call me that. Never again. Unless you really do want to die," he hissed at River almost silently, trying to stay calm; she probably wouldn't even hear him, physically, but she was a telepath and would be able to pick up on the thought. Clearly, Schuldig needed to have a talk with her about uttering religious references around him. He took a deep breath, and turned his attention back to the matter of blood. Blood was a nice, safe thought.

O-positive. Good. Farfarello obviously couldn't test for any of the other, lesser factors influencing blood compatibility, even if he knew how, but having the same ABO and RH type was good enough for an emergency. He eyed the healer warily, as the man seemed to have lost his own grip on reality somewhat; added to the temper he'd displayed earlier, this made Farfarello a bit concerned about the next step.

"Hey, snarly. I need to open a vein. Mine, then hers. Just a little, so I can give her blood. Don't attack me." Hopefully the man would be able to process at least that much information. Farfarello sighed, hating the situation more with every passing minute; helping people was usually the antithesis of his mission in life.

Raising his voice a little Farfarello said, "If there are any healers with energy left, I could use one over here shortly." The wounds would be small, but there was no sense spilling more blood than absolutely necessary. Maybe he'd even ask one of them to fix his broken clavicle while they were at it, considering all the trouble he was going to here.

At the use of the stranger's nickname - snarly, stubborn male - Daemon blinked, golden eyes coming back into focus as he forced exhaustion away. A little longer. Just until he was sure she was alright. And he had to find Ren. He couldn't rest yet, the other man wouldn't know what had happened to him. And the map...

...Maybe the map might have to wait for another night, all things considered. He hoped Renji's captain wasn't too angry with him.

The stranger's - Farfie? - words finally made sense, and he nodded, not breaking away from River's gaze. He reached out and brushed a gentle thumb beneath her eye, having seen the emotion well up in deep brown, and replied to the man. "My apologies on threatening you earlier. I did not realize you were a friend and I was out of line. Do what you must, I will not harm you for helping her."

Apparently River found Farfarello's threat to be little more than another line in the play, so she laughed until her laughter faded off into a daze. It was a numb kind of pain, the worst and best kind. How pretty and red and black. All kinds of spectacular colors and people dancing in her mind. She was perfectly relaxed, calm and adrift on a sea of something none of them could see. The sea of someone else, the sea of someone else's self found in the mind of another.

"Not a witch. Not Witch." Murmurs came soft and she smiled that smile again and again. She'd smile it until she could smile it no longer because it held onto that feeling, that understanding. "Makes a girl wish she could be, though. Just for a little bit. Teacups playing at being girls. Can't be half the woman... because she was never..."

Never ever.

"It's cold outside. Mother won't let me go swimming."

_{[from over here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/184902.html?thread=12743494#t12743494)]}

He wasn't used to being the helpless one, the last one at the scene. So when Ren finally stepped into the hallway, after Daemon's signal, his teeth sank into the inside of his cheek at the sight. He was almost always the first one to know when something shifted in the lives of those he touched on - and now he had no idea what the circumstances had been, whose blood was spreading along the floor, who even was all injured.

Recognizing only a handful of people, all he could see was that River and Daemon's friend Renji were being tended to.

His raise d'etre had never been to aid, or affect the circumstances, or leave his mark on the mortal coils of people. His job was just to help Ojou condemn souls to Hell - if anything, he was an expert at that. He never felt useless when set on that task. It may have been slight karma, that now faced with a situation where he could do something good, he was unable to. Too slow, not a healer, no powers that could save a human life.

With a gaze that didn't quite land on any one person, the doll knelt alongside the two men, at River's side. "If you need anything, just say so."

Leaving the other group to bicker over who was or was not in any shape to be doing what, Farfarello moved even closer to River; the pen was quite short and for it to reach they would need to be in a somewhat awkward position, but it was doable.

Farfarello quickly tied a strip of his shredded t-shirt around the middle of his biceps, over the brachial artery, causing the veins lower in his arm to become more prominent. Finding a vein easily, even in the dim light, Farfarello quickly and expertly made a tiny cut in his own flesh, just slightly smaller than the pen tube. As he pushed the end of the tube into the cut the skin stretched and closed tight around the pen, keeping much blood from leaking out the wrong way and keeping air from getting in.

River's vein was harder to find, her blood pressure being so terribly low from the blood loss, but Farfarello was finally able to locate it before too much of his own blood was wasted on the floor; at least with his blood already flowing through the makeshift tube air was not able to get in and potentially harm River when it transferred to her bloodstream. Repeating the process of making a small cut and easing the free end of the pen into it, on River this time, Farfarello grunted softly and settled back to let gravity and his own stronger blood pressure do the work.

He'd have to monitor his own condition carefully to make sure he didn't give River too much; he could manage probably about one and a half standard units of blood reasonably safely, provided he rested afterwards. Hopefully a few hours would see him on his feet again, so he wouldn't have to go yet another night without killing something; he knew he wouldn't be safe for human company come morning if he was denied a third night in a row.

"There's nothing half about you, Lady," Daemon murmured soothingly, gentle fingers brushing the hair from her face as his golden eyes watched what the white-haired stranger was doing. "You may be a teacup, but you are far more than you give yourself credit for. Trust me."

He meant the words, too, his tone full of the assurance he felt.

A familiar voice at his side drew his gaze and he smiled in relief to see Ren, golden eyes brightening somewhat in relief. He really hadn't been sure if he had the energy to make it back to his room and was glad the other man had found him.

"I see you saw the arrow," he commented, his voice holding a note of wry amusement, though his exhaustion was evident.

And there was contentment in her face and in her eyes to be assured of her worth. It might not be the same worth, but worth was worth. And River Tam was glad to be more than just a broken teacup. Shards of her worth had long since been scattered and collected in plastic receptacles. And here they'd gathered about her once again in the eve of the day when the sun wasn't even shining on them.

"Ren is here," she announced in her usual, sing-song voice. "I'm sorry if I've gotten you in trouble. If Father is angry, I'll take the punishment. I was out playing too late, and I came home all muddy and full of holes-"

Whatever cryptic message River intended to deliver, it was cut short as she winced at the pen being inserted into her arm. All manners of wild delusions danced in her mind, memories of tubes and needles being stuck all over her body. Behind her eyes, in her head, all along her arms and legs and back. It was only because of Farfarello's oddly assuring presence with Daemon and Ren at her side that she didn't lash out, a trained response of a weapon cultivated and crafted by such procedures. Her face crumpled a little bit as she tried not to let the memory make her cry.

"Make me a stone," River whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Ah, no trouble," he said automatically, and rather than take her hand, he reached out to brush the backs of his knuckles against her forearm in an attempt to soothe by however much. Ren knew what Farfarello was doing just by the sight of it - it was a crude method for this day and age, but there was nothing better.

And there was nothing to detract from her fear, or her pain.

He glanced at Daemon briefly, not quite managing a small smile in return. "Thanks for the heads up; sorry I wasn't there on time." Turning back to River, he said, "If you become a stone, I'll skip you across the water. Right?"

Where had he heard that before? A song, or folktale, maybe. He couldn't remember what time period. It didn't really matter.

Farfarello only barely noticed Ren's appearance, he was so turned-in on himself, carefully keeping track of his own condition. Normally he would stop as soon as he became lightheaded, but with the remnants of a concussion to take into consideration he was not sure if he should push past that first bit of dizziness or not. Normally. Ha. As if, normally, he would be giving blood to anyone at all.

He could hear the fear in River's voice, feel it in the tenseness of her body, and he had to struggle to keep it from triggering his own violence and sadism; this was not the time for that. Really. He kept telling himself that, firmly, almost desperately.

Hearing the fear in River's voice, Daemon slid his palm softly against her forehead. "Let me in, Lady," he spoke, his voice soothing and whisper-quiet.

He wove a web, an illusionary one this time - one of his specialties as a Black Widow. Slipping into her mind, he found the fear and pain and confusion and covered them, replacing them with a calmer, more peaceful scene. Inspired by Ren's words, he visualized one of the high mountain lakes in Askavi, placing her on a rocky shore, pebbles crunching beneath her feet and warm sun on her face. Deepening the illusion, a breeze played through her hair, teasing and playful.

Though illusion took much less of his magical strength than the healing had, he knew in his exhausted state he wouldn't be able to maintain it long. Hopefully, it would hold until 'Farfie' finished whatever he was doing and her fear abated. At least this gave her something else to focus on.

There were very few people River trusted to walk the path of her mind, very few she trusted to be able to dance across the fields of dead birds and broken glass. Somehow, in her brief time knowing him, Daemon Sadi had become one of those people. Despite the tube that was inserted in her arm, her expression faded to a peaceful one. She trusted his hand, and she trusted the visions that he made her see.

A forest, a misty wood where unicorns or devils pranced about depending on its mood, slowly faded away to the clear, mountain scene. The lake, the pebbles. In this mystical landscape, dream mingled with reality, and River bent down from the waist, flexibility of a dancer allowing her face to nearly touch the ground without need for hands to brace herself. The pebbles, the smooth rocks...

"I could be a stone here," she murmured in reality. "I could be a stone here, and I could be smooth. And I could be a part of it. And there wouldn't be so much broken glass. But he needs to be... He needs to be alright."

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