damned_institute | Day 34: Breakfast

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Day 34: Breakfast

[starting off in M13]

The last part of the night was little more than a blur in Homura's mind. The men had rushed in, but not joined them, instead staying off to themselves. Before any of them had a chance to react, however, a voice sounded through the air, mocking some other person Homura had never heard of, and the patients themselves.

To Homura, whoever that man was, he sounded a great deal like a god.

But before he could ask questions, the demi-god found himself no longer in the chapel, but some strange room on a bed. Is that what Kenren had meant from his earlier warning? Homura sat up, glad at least that the world didn't spin when he did so. Then the same man from before began to speak again, with a completely different tone. It was confusing to hear him talk that way, calling them patients instead of prisoners as he had before. Homura listened quietly as the announcement was made, then got out of bed.

Maybe he wouldn't have to go anywhere yet. It wasn't like Homura knew where to go anyway, and that meant he had time. If this was his room, and if he had been here as long as Kenren had said, there was a chance he could find something with answers. The Taisho had even told him that Homura had seen Rinrei. Certainly he would've written something down, made a map, something that could let him find her again! He started with the desk at the end of his bed, first finding a small stack of notebooks. Picking up the first, he flipped through, turning the pages with quickening desperation as he found each one to be blank.

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(For Armand?)

Bridget shot up in bed, gasping for air ashe looked around the familiar space of his room. His nurse was there almost instantly, making soft sounds and getting him up and dressed and off to breakfast.

A tray of food that he wasn't interested in was placed on the table and Bridget took a moment to glance around the room. Empty. He could afford a moment to himself. Placing his head on folded arms, he shivered slightly.

Armand had still been reeling dizzily from his wounds and even prepared to wave off any assistance from Dr. Uzuki. He didn't deserve the help. He'd been hurt because he was stupid. But then he'd heard--almost like a dream--the Head Doctor's voice berating them from a distance and everything went dark.

He woke up to the same voice, much clearer now, and the agony of his shoulder and arm screaming a bit less for being cleaned and wrapped in neat bandages. His arm was even in a sling to keep the muscles of his shoulder from pulling while they healed. He felt ashamed and ill, but peculiarly grateful that it wasn't his writing hand that had been injured.

He lay there, fighting back tears, until his nurse appeared and urged him out to breakfast. Because he couldn't carry it himself, she said she'd fill a tray for him if he was a good boy and took some painkillers. He nodded, not even hearing her or caring what she said, just knowing that answering her would make her go away for the moment. Then he spotted Bridget across the room. Alive. But something seemed wrong.

Armand arrived at Bridget's side as the nurse brought up a tray loaded with pancakes and syrup and large glass of juice.

"Oh good," she said cheerily, "you found your little friend. Take this and everything will be fine." She held out a pair of pills, not an injection--she wasn't trying to sedate him. Armand took and swallowed the pills with some juice, then sat as she wandered off.

"Bridget," he asked worriedly, "are you well?"

When people had started to walk in, Bridget had sat up, not looking at anyone and instead poking at his pancakes with a fork.

When Armand came to him, he looked up, startled and then frowned with worry. "Oh! What happened? Are you alright?" For a moment, he reached out, wanting to help, to touch, then his mind flashed on his hands covered in blood.... her blood and he snatched them back again.

"There was a monster in the kitchen," was all Armand was prepared to say. "I was stupid." He bit his lip. "You, are you hurt? You don't look--something is wrong." He had seen the boy's attitude before he'd arrived. "Please tell me." It was more an order than a request, his worry overriding his normal polite deference.

Bridget flushed and looked down. "I... hurt my friend last night." That he had been trying to protect her from that woman was a moot point. He still hurt Kagura.

"I... She... She was crying and I did nothing." His voice had dropped to almost a whisper by that point.

Seeing the boy's distress wrung Armand's heart. "Why was she crying?" He wondered why Bridget thought it was his fault, but he didn't ask. "Did a monster hurt her?"

"No." Setting the fork neatly beside his plate, Bridget folded his hands in his lap. "I hurt her. I didn't want her to get hurt, but I wound up hurting her anyway." Bridget's breath caught for a moment and he had to stop and think. Collect himself.

"I met a girl last night and she ...." He shook his head, uncertain of what had happened. "There was blood and I, I thought that she was hurt." He shook his head. "She wasn't."

"Then what as it?" The idea of Bridget hurting anyone confused Armand. Despite what the child had said about his previous career, Bridget was one of the gentlest, sweetest people Armand had ever met in all his life. Almost like--he shook his head to dismiss that memory.

"What did the other girl do?" he asked. He couldn't keep his worry contained, but while Bridget sat so closed in on himself, he didn't feel comfortable touching the boy, even for comfort.

Bridget could feel his heart rate pick up as he thought about what had happened. "She..." He hesitated and his shoulders shook slightly. "Her hand was bleeding and I walked to her. I wanted to help but she... she launched herself at me and held her hand..." All the color drained out of Bridget's face.

"She was strong and she, she held her hand to my mouth..." He glanced up at Armand. "I can still taste it."

"Taste it?" Taste what? But Armand didn't ask out loud because he realized what Bridget meant. If it were possible for more blood to drain from his face, it would. His skin already felt chilled.

This could not be good. "Do you feel ill? What else did she do?"

Deliberately, partially to prove something to himself, he reached for Bridget's hand.

"I don't know." Bridget shook his head slightly. "It hurt. Like there was something inside and it wanted out, but it couldn't, so it started to tear up my insides. And.... I could feel her, in my head." His breath hitched again and he tried to keep from crying.

"I think I passed out." A mercy. The pain had been incredible. His hand under Armand's was ice cold, and trembling like a tiny bird's heart, but he made no move to take it back this time. He needed to touch, something to remind him that he wasn't as dirty as he felt, that he wasn't still covered in her blood.

Armand gripped the small, cold hand in his tightly. He was worried about the temperature, although he had no idea what else to look for if Bridget was undead now. The boy seemed unchanged if very traumatized. "Does it hurt now?" he asked. "It's fine to cry if you want. I'm your friend."

Bridget shook his head. "No. It doesn't hurt anymore. And I can't feel her like I did before." He took a shaking breath and smiled slightly up at Armand.

"Thank you though. For being my friend."

"I wish I could do more to help you. I'm not much of a friend." That smile broke his heart. "Now, tell me about your friend. I can't imagine you hurting anyone deliberately." He smiled back though, as warmly as he could and did not let go of the hand, even though it meant he couldn't do anything else.

Bridget moved his hand to hold the older man's tightly as he shook his head. "I've told you before," he said. "Armand is a wonderful friend and person and I don't want you to say bad things about him."

At the question, Bridget looked away again. "I woke up and Miss Sohma was there. She... she was worried about me, but my mind..." He frowned. "I was very confused. And then the girl with the blood she, she wantedme to go with her and Miss Sohma said no. They argued and then Miss Sohma..." He hesitated for a moment. "She went to slap the other girl and I, I just knew that if shedid that, the girl would hurt her." He looked up at Armand, eyes bright with tears. "Maybe kill her. I-I couldn't let her do that, so ... I told her I should go..."

He tookasmall, hicupping breath. "I hurt her because of that and she'smy friend. I didn't want to hurt her, but I did."

At that moment, Armand dearly wished his other hand was free of the sling so he could squeeze Bridget's shoulder. He settled for squeezing the hand back tightly. "She didn't understand. I'm sure she will understand when you give her a chance and explain. You saved her. That is being a good friend. Sometimes we don't see that."

Bridget looked up at Armand as though the idea of explaining himself had never crossed his mind. "Do you think she'll let me talk to her? She was so upset last night..."

"I think she will. She's your friend yes? Even if she was hurt." He hoped so anyway. He knew how hard it was to hear something difficult. "Do you want any help with it?"

Reaching up with his free hand, Bridget rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. The gesture made him seem even younger than his apperance alone had.

"No," he said, turning to smile up at his friend. "I should talk to her on my own. I'll explain and, well, I guess hope that she doesn't hate me. Thank you."

"At least then she'll know. And if she hates you after you've told her, it won't be your fault." He held his breath, hoping that Bridget would see what he meant. "You did your best."

Bridget shook his head, not wanting to dwell on it anymore.

"Enough about me. It's silly to think on." He lifted his hand and lightly touched the sling before taking his hand back and looking at his friend.

"What happened?"

Armand swallowed. "There was a large black thing in the kitchen. I was the last one of my group out and it clawed me as I was leaving." He looked down, embarrassed and ashamed of his stupidity. "Morrison had already been hurt trying to protect me."

Bridget blinked. "Is it bad?" He didn't seem to find anything 'stupid' about being attacked, unless you were one to walk up to your attacker and try to help...

"I was worried about you last night," he added. "I thought I would try the walls again, but I didn't make it."

"And I was worried for you. I almost wish you had done that now. It was stupid because I hung back and didn't pay enough attention." His own self-criticism was harsh. He shook his head. "I don't think it is too bad. I can move it a little. It hurts though." The gray shirt didn't do much to hide the bandages around to the back of his shoulder.

With a frown, Bridget shook his head, expression growing stern.

"Armand, are you a trained fighter, soldier, or hunter?"

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