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great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.
[ It's over, finally. Everything is being cleared out of the building except for the people who will keep it running during this next period of hopefully-peace. People are celebrating, but Heine's just tired. He wants to go... away. Not home, never home. He'll find somewhere new.
(His spine is fucked from a mine they hadn't been able to avoid. One of his legs was nearly shattered from the blast, never quite healed, and it still bothers him, but there are others still worse off. He should be thankful, but he just doesn't care anymore.)
Passing by the dog pens, he pauses, pivoting on his crutches. There are soldiers being reunited with the dogs that saved their lives, their companions and fellow survivors. Most of the dogs have been taken in elsewhere or will be kept for guard duties, except for a few left. He asks about them without thinking it through. Even those still in the pen have been claimed and will be picked up later. Heine looks over the remaining dogs, gaze falling on the biggest one with fluffy brown hair and an equally fluffy tail. Something in his face is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Maybe they'd fought somewhere together, he can't remember.
He hesitates for a while longer. Company isn't necessary. But... Heine sighs through his nose and gets the necessary papers done, not taking up the offer to meet the dog before adopting him. The guy running the process goes to call the dog over to the gate, handing Heine a battered leather leash he can use. Heine doubts he'll be using it, though. It's hard enough to get around on crutches already; leading someone else around on a leash isn't going to make it any easier.
The dog comes over to the exit, and Heine knows that he knows him. But the memory keeps slipping away, and he doesn't have the energy to chase it. ]
Hey. [ If it's possible to mumble one word, he does it. ] ...Randall, right?
(His spine is fucked from a mine they hadn't been able to avoid. One of his legs was nearly shattered from the blast, never quite healed, and it still bothers him, but there are others still worse off. He should be thankful, but he just doesn't care anymore.)
Passing by the dog pens, he pauses, pivoting on his crutches. There are soldiers being reunited with the dogs that saved their lives, their companions and fellow survivors. Most of the dogs have been taken in elsewhere or will be kept for guard duties, except for a few left. He asks about them without thinking it through. Even those still in the pen have been claimed and will be picked up later. Heine looks over the remaining dogs, gaze falling on the biggest one with fluffy brown hair and an equally fluffy tail. Something in his face is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Maybe they'd fought somewhere together, he can't remember.
He hesitates for a while longer. Company isn't necessary. But... Heine sighs through his nose and gets the necessary papers done, not taking up the offer to meet the dog before adopting him. The guy running the process goes to call the dog over to the gate, handing Heine a battered leather leash he can use. Heine doubts he'll be using it, though. It's hard enough to get around on crutches already; leading someone else around on a leash isn't going to make it any easier.
The dog comes over to the exit, and Heine knows that he knows him. But the memory keeps slipping away, and he doesn't have the energy to chase it. ]
Hey. [ If it's possible to mumble one word, he does it. ] ...Randall, right?
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[ At least Randall's gentle touch distracts him; Heine sighs softly and lowers his head. He feels cleaner than he has in a long time, and he'll probably feel even better once he's dried off and in clean loose clothes for bed. ]
No, it's fine. [ His hair doesn't need washing for now. ] ...thanks.
[ Now for the arduous process of getting out of the tub. Remembering the disaster of trying to get into it, Heine scowls as he sets about bracing his hands on the lip of the tub. ]
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...Does that sound stupid?
[ He doesn't get much time to second-guess it, really. It was already out between them, both confessing to the same strange little moments of recollection. Maybe more would come, or they'd find out it was just some coincidental dream they'd shared similarities in from how often the other was on their minds.
Heine turns down the offer for his hair and is already moving to get out of the tub, fingers long and slender and pale against the porcelain when Randall shuffles back to allow him space.
He'll want to try on his own, he already knows. But Randall will be right there to bracket him in his arms for support with the towel already in hand to wrap him in, so he won't fall again even if he slips. Or be naked about it. ]
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In another time? [ That makes sense, too. He hms softly. ] No... I think you're right.
[ Heine does want to try on his own—and try he does, lifting himself out of the tub with more success this time. He puts his better foot down. (His back aches.) Then his other leg, still in the cast. (A starburst of pain in his lower shin.)
He takes the towel, then, and starts drying himself with brisk movements. Dressing will have to take place on the bed. He can't stand steadily for so long. ]
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Within reach. He does take note of the pain visible in his posture, how he favors his leg, and can't help but wonder with the draw of his brows if Heine didn't injure himself worse when he slipped. Randall gathers up the crutches left askew against the wall when Heine seems finished, careful not to let his eyes wander inappropriately and tip of his tail wagging a bit nervously with an airy swish. ]
Is there anything else you need? Should I fetch a set of clothes, or some ice? [ For his back— or leg, he supposes, but the cold wouldn't reach through the cast to where he really needs it. ]
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[ He extends a hand for the crutches with the towel still slung around his neck. Once given them, he gets himself over to his bedroom, movements ginger and more uncertain than usual. He doesn't think he'd messed up his leg any more, but fuck does his back hurt. Lying down sounds like a great idea right now.
His clothes, meanwhile, are semi-unpacked and mostly just dumped on the old writing desk, half of them still in his duffel bag. Hanging them up was too hard for him. Also, he's not used to staying in one place for so long. ]
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He's too aware of Heine not to notice how gingerly he moved, staying at hand and only stepping away to gather his things and lay them on the bed.
He tries not to hover. He tries, but... ultimately, he fails. Randall can give him his privacy and turn around but he doesn't want to leave his side, half-finished garden or no. ]
Is everything, um... You're moving a bit— are you sure you're all right after falling? Is anything different?
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[ A tired protest, a statement he's said so many times that even he doesn't really believe it. He's been stuck in this cottage for the most part, and pleasant as it may be, he's still trapped.
It's almost as tiring as battle, watching his men die, lives and days snuffed out. This is like watching himself die slowly.
So he gives, a little—for once. ]
It's probably just strained. I'll lie down, so don't worry about it. [ He starts getting dressed, movements slow and laborious. ] You can go back to your gardening.
[ Despite the dismissive words, his tone is more gentle than it is usually. ]
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I will worry about it, mas— sorry, Heine. I worry about you. Gardening can wait. [ His tone is a little sullen, but firm. On this, he won't be told to feel otherwise. Heine is important to him. ] I don't want to see you in pain if there's anything I can do to prevent it. I'll get a hot water bottle.
[ And he'll reach forward to lay a hand on his shoulder, a nervous but bold little move before he turns on his heel and trots out to fetch the rubber pouch and put a kettle on to heat up some water. It'll help him if he strained the muscle, he thinks, much like the hot bath had.
When he returns with it, he's a little more reserved again, wondering if he'd said anything wrong. He offers it with splayed ears and the duck of his head, clambering down to kneel next to the bed beside him. ]
I hope you feel better soon. I can rub your back if you think it'll help. I can be gentle. I know I'm big and clumsy, but I can be gentle.
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He doesn't like getting used to anything nice, certain that it'll disappear sooner rather than later. For now, he focuses on pulling up his pants, doing his best not to strain his back any more. The shirt he tugs on, trying to not lift his arms much higher than his shoulders to move the muscles in his back, movements stiff. ]
You're not so bad. [ He's half-teasing, the bath combined with discussion of their past lives having put him in a better mood despite the fall. ] Don't want to turn over, though—so the bottle's fine.
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He's visibly relieved when Heine seems to accept the hot water bottle, anyway, and he reaches to help him sit up enough to slide the water bottle beneath his back injury. ]
Here, I'll prop you up. Just stay relaxed.
[ If allowed, he'll go ahead and slip an arm behind his shoulders and carefully lift him to arrange the bottle under him. Hopefully it'll help ease any aches he brought on by falling in the tub.
Next time will be better. Easier. Heine can adapt to this, and Randall will help him. It's what he tells himself to stop thinking about the what ifs and the maybes and the medical possibilities that may face him if things get any worse. ]
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A look around the kitchen doesn't turn up anything, and the hose is out of the question; he certainly can't maneuver it while on crutches. Remembering the larger bowls they've stored in the upper shelves, Heine wheels up to a counter.
It takes some strength to lift himself up on the handles, then lift himself up onto the counter top. He's done it before, usually out of Randall's sight since it's not exactly a safe action. But surely it won't be a problem doing it one more time, he thinks. Putting his weight on one knee, he gets up on his knees and opens a cabinet to start searching. Tea set, water glasses, a butter dish... and there, on the top shelf, is a large, sunny yellow salad bowl that will definite hold enough water for at least the flowers.
Heine automatically starts to stand up so he can reach, but the movement is too fast. Blood rushes from his head and his good leg buckles. Instinctively, he tries to rest weight on his other leg, which gives out as soon as he tries to stand on it. He loses balance, topples, and his back hurts so suddenly and badly that he can't even shout as wind rushes by his ears and he's falling fast and hard—
He comes to lying on the floor a few seconds later. At least, he thinks it's only been a few seconds—the clock is out of sight, but the sun hasn't noticeably changed positions. Being unconscious for more than a few seconds would mean a serious head wound, which would be markedly shitty on top of what feels like a broken leg and possibly fractured hip. Not to mention his back, fuck. Maybe if he doesn't think about it it won't hurt like it's burning and being torn out all at once. His left arm hurts but not badly; he turns with a huge effort onto his back rather than his side, keeping the weight of his leg from pulling on his hip and waist.
But that's all he can do. Heine lies still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and calm down his pounding heart. Sweat is cooling on his brow. Heine thinks hard, trying to not panic. He's not bleeding, and he didn't bang his head... probably. He tastes the inside of his mouth: no blood, no internal injuries that are going to kill him within the next few minutes. However, he has no way to get help, either, not with the landline in the office room.
There's a rustling outside. Heine lifts his head as much as he can, trying to see. ]
Randall? [ His voice is rough, like he hasn't spoken in some time. Maybe he did pass out for a while. Heine coughs, winces at the way even that pulls at his back, and calls more loudly. ] Randall!
I'VE FalleN AND I CAN'T GET uP
As it is, Randall is strolling through town with nothing but thoughts of fall spices and procuring some firewood and debating what he'll try to make for dinner tonight as the fiasco unfolds back home, completely unknown to him. When Heine topples off the counter, Randall is barely done loading his groceries. When he comes to later, he's loading up a quarter of a cord of wood and hefting it onto his back, thanking the elderly man who sold it to him and his wife who gave him some fresh cuttings to grow new herbs and fruits off of for the garden. Even once he makes it back to the house, he unloads the wood around the back and leaves the plants on the patio, and is halfway back around the front when his ears perk and swivel with the smallest of sounds from within the house.
It isn't alarming, at first. He's even smiling, wondering what his master is getting up to while left alone, tempted to peek in and spy a little bit. On the off chance it's something sweet and silly, tapping his foot to a tune he bops around the kitchen to, or whistling to himself, or fixing something helplessly indulgent to eat while he has the chance for privacy. He can't see him and decides to just go inside.
It's the fumbling of his keys that Heine hears on the other side of the door, the rustle of the paper bag set down on the stoop with dinner ingredients inside so he can wiggle open the lock that liked to swell right before it stormed. The moment Heine says his name, he knows something is wrong, ears plastering back to his skull and half-cropped tail going stiff as he muscles it open, flat-out running into the house and taking the corner nearly too sharp, feet threatening to slip out from beneath him. He catches himself in the entry frame and the whites of his eyes are bright all around as he takes in the scene.
The awkward angle of his leg is the first thing he notices, then the swelling of his hips— the disarray on the countertop from where he'd fallen, and the discarded wheelchair and crutches leaned against the breakfast bar a few feet further back. ]
Heine! I'm here; don't move, all right? Let me... let me look at you. What happened? How long have you been like this?
[ He's on his knees beside him in a flash, hands hovering but uncertain where to lay them down, where he could and couldn't touch, what he should do. The conflict is in his eyes and his vision is already blurry with tears. What... what had he done? What had Randall been doing while he's been here? Being leisurely, enjoying the weather, taking his sweet time to make it back home. It was all a mistake.
He never should've left.
Finally, one hand comes to rest on Heine's forehead, smoothing the hair back from his face where it'd plastered against his skin while the other hovers over his chest, fingertips barely skimming down in the gentlest of touches. As if he can soothe his coughs or pin him in place. ]
What happened... [ This time it's practically whispered to himself, shocked and appalled with himself and fumbling for the right things to say, or the right questions to ask, or the right actions to take. Not many people in this town had cars, and they had no mode of transportation themselves, either.
But Heine needed a doctor. Right now. That much is clear. ]
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But Randall's here. Heine's vision swims in black for a moment before he recovers and focuses. ]
I don't know how long.
[ He tries to concentrate, to explain his injuries to Randall, but now that he's here the relief almost swallows his heart whole, and his eyes keep shutting. ]
I fell. Was careless.
[ It takes a huge effort to even stay conscious, when his entire body is screaming in protest for him to sleep, to close his eyes and give up, but he knows he can't. Even if he can't feel the blood soaking the leg of his pants, or his legs at all. Slowly, laboriously, he brings his hand up to Randall's wrist and holds on as well as he can, though his fingers certainly can't go around the entire circumference. But he holds on, because there's nothing else he can do. ]
Call the doctor.
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And then he pulls himself together. He only needed those few seconds to allow himself to be upset and feel lost and get it out of his system to take action. Heine's eyes lose focus and he doesn't respond immediately, but he does eventually come back to him and answer. It takes him time to gather his words, but Randall is patient and close enough that he doesn't have to raise his voice, stroking his chest in idle little touches while the other hand is in his hair. Then weak fingers are closing around his wrist and tears well in his eyes again. He lets him hold on for a bit, hand on his head trembling as he thumbs over his hairline and his breath shudders in his chest.
The bleeding from his leg seems to be slow, at least, so it likely didn't sever any arteries. He can see the jut of bone and he wonders what he should do with that, if anything. Cut his pant leg off and try to wrap it? Probably. Anything to keep him from bleeding out. What about his hips, though? And his back? How is he supposed to move him...? ]
All right. All right, I'll be right back. Stay awake, okay? I'll be as quick as I can.
[ Having to peel himself from Heine's grip is the hardest thing he's had to do in his life, he's certain. When someone as strong and stubborn as his master actually reaches out for him and holds on for all he's worth, he doesn't want to have to leave.
Though once he's managed it, he's never moved faster than he has today. He's back on his feet and he runs to the phone in the office, fingers shaking as he pulls the disc around for each number, but Heine's doctor doesn't answer. He has to go through the operator to get the clinic as a whole and get ahold of someone, hastily reporting the accident and the damage he'd seen and asking when someone could be here.
But it's a small town and they only had one transport vehicle, in for repairs. So the answer was quite a while longer than he could manage, if he just scooped him up and went. Next he asks about what to do, describing his injuries and the damage in a bit more detail, and he's transferred to a nurse with some quick replies.
And reassurances that he can do this. Just enough to stabilize things and get him in to real help. The woman on the phone even goes so far as to apologize for not having a car, and he very nearly laughs. Next to no one in this town did, and he can't blame her for it.
When he trots back in to Heine's side with the first aid box under his arm, he clambers back down to the floor carefully and scoops his hand up in both if his, pressing Heine's knuckles to his forehead before kissing them, and finally lowering his hands to his lap. ]
Heine? You're still awake, right? I have some questions I'm supposed to ask you. Then we'll get you to the clinic, all right? It'll be quick. Just a little longer. How's your back? Can you feel your leg below the knee, or move your toes?
Does your head hurt? Are your ears ringing?
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'kay.
[ He just remembers to acknowledge. Then it's back to looking at patterns on the slightly water-damaged ceiling and trying to breathe evenly. The pain is all-encompassing, but it increases and goes back to agonizing in waves that he can almost predict. With that in mind, it's almost manageable. Hopefully Randall is too occupied with the phone to hear the noises that do escape.
Randall taking his hand is the next thing he's aware of. Heine's fingers twitch, but he doesn't pull his hand away. ]
Yeah. [ Still awake, which is probably for the best given that now he thinks he did hit his head. ] Head hurts, ears were ringing earlier but it's calmed down. My back feels like shit. Worse than that time I feel in the bath.
[ You know it's bad when Heine mentions embarrassing events of his own volition. ]
And I can't feel my legs.
[ Not even below the knee—anything below the hip is pretty much lost at this moment. ]
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He did catch a couple of those noises on his way back to the kitchen, ears flattened back and tail only tucking further. The dog in him comes out and he wants to nose his way against his side, fighting the urge to just lay down with him and kiss his face. He has to move and take care of him. ]
The nurse on the phone said you might have a concussion. And that I need to bind your leg as best I can.
[ But the mention of his fall in the bath that time a month or so back alarms him, specifically because he hadn't once mentioned it any other time. For him to use it as a frame of reference... well. It scares him more than anything. More than the blood-smeared jut of bone and more than the pained little sounds that wheeze out of him, and more than the way he'd grabbed his wrist as tight as he could, seeking purchase for... something. Relief, or assurance, or just the feel of a living being to relieve the pain.
Wait, legs, plural? ]
Did you hurt the other one? You can't feel either of them?
[ He's careful to keep the alarm out of his voice, examining his good leg for any injuries or twists. There's nothing wrong that he can see without taking his pants off. But speaking of, he'll go ahead and get into the first aid kit, finding the bandage scissors to begin cutting off the one leg of Heine's pants, baring the jut of bone and carefully untangling it from the splintered end. The bone was brittle and the muscle weak from months of disuse, even though it'd been mostly healed and they'd worked on light physical therapy to keep it active. ]
Just let me get this bandaged up and we'll go, all right? They can't... send the ambulance. No one can come. So I have directions for what I can do for you and then I'll be taking you in. Can you stay awake with me?
[ His big clumsy hands are deft for a change, getting the fabric off and careful not to disturb the protruding bone, he cleans up the area with a splash of hydrogen peroxide and stoppers the slow bleeding with wads of gauze before wrapping it up in bandages, then carefully covering the bone in a couple unfolded layers of gauze to keep things clean. He had to give him the bad news either way, so Heine could prepare himself for what would likely be a painful trip. Randall would just have to carry him. It's only a couple miles, but he can't run for fear of jostling him terribly. He'd just have to walk as quickly and carefully as he could.
Maybe it's a blessing that Heine can't feel his legs. ]
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Then keep me awake.
[ Not like he doesn't hurt like hell everywhere that isn't his legs, but he might pass out despite that. It's exhausting to think things through with his back burning. Heine looks down at his legs when Randall does; he can't see how badly his leg is broken, but his other leg doesn't seem to be that... bad. Which makes him question why he can't feel that one either.
He still doesn't look away as Randall cuts his pants away. It really should be agonizing, and it looks terrible. Not as bad as some of the shit he's seen, but still bad. ]
I'm trying. [ As his leg is bandaged up, Heine's still fighting to take even breaths. Randall isn't moving him very much while fixing the bandages, but it still shifts his weight and hurts his back. ] I'm not going to be any more ready. Let's just get this over with.
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Something was wrong, and he's trying to keep Heine from picking that up as well. He even makes an even to fuss with the other one as if he's doing something with it, but only for a few moments. They really didn't have time to waste. Heine's struggling to maintain even breathing, he can tell, and it's only getting worse.
Finally, with the last touches tied up and hastily shoving things back in the box for the sole purpose of getting them out of the way, he turns to fix his gaze on Heine and his lips thin with a determined little grimace. ]
I'll do my best. Let's go, then. Just... can you get your arms around my neck, or will it hurt your back?
[ Even as he speaks to his master, his arms are sliding beneath him, one wedging carefully under his neck and shoulders, the other beneath his knees and curling to get ahold of his waist just long enough to shift the other arm beneath his back injury for a better hold on his weight. And up he goes, rising to his haunches and then to his feet, already feeling the strain on the half-healed hole in his gut but without making a peep. His first few steps are ginger, turning and careful not to knock his legs against the doorway to head right back out the door. ]
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I'll do it. Wait...
[ He huffs out a breath, one elbow snapping out into Randall's chest out of reflex before he rethinks it. He wraps his arm around the back of his neck instead. It does pull on his back, but it's better than falling. Even as he's jostled a little when Randall stands, he doesn't make a sound, just gnaws on his lower lip and grabs tighter onto his shirt.
And then they're out in the cool ocean air. A glance over the water shows dark clouds. Heine shivers, though he isn't sure if it's at the weather or knowing how fucked his body is right now. He really can't feel his legs. ]
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None of that was important at this point. The first few minutes pass in a determined silence as he concentrates on setting pace and maintaining some form of stillness— at least as much as he can— but the clouds are moving in fast and he can already see the tumult caused by the heavy rain on the ocean, fighting for dominance of volume. He holds Heine as steady as he possible and huddles over him, protecting him from most of the cold air blowing off the sea as his pace increases. He isn't covering nearly enough ground fast enough for his liking and he's fighting the urge to flat-out run, agitation visible on his face.
The minute the storm reaches them and the rain starts, however, he will take up a sprint and mutter apologies as he hunches further over him, ignoring the pain in his side and the wet warmth of blood running sticky down his waist, slipping beneath the denim and working its way down his leg. At least the clinic's in sight. ]
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More immediate concerns, however, do take priority. Heine hangs on to Randall, clinging to his neck as he carries him along the path back toward town. The humidity in the cool air speaks of an incoming storm, and as predicted, fat water droplets hit within a few minutes.
What he doesn't really expect is for Randall to start running. ]
Slow down! [ It comes out in a rasp, and Heine winces automatically, arms squeezing. But it really does hurt his back. ] It's muddy, don't slip—
[ He can't feel the blood soaking into Randall's shirt where he is. If he did, he'd be even more adamant in telling him to slow down, but as it is, with the rain plastering down their hair and clothes, Heine can only think in distracted fits and bursts, even as they're reaching the front entrance to the clinic. As soon as they're close an older woman opens the door, waving them in. ]
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I won't, I was trained for this!
[ It sounds stupid as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but it isn't untrue. All weather and all terrain combat was his specialty, and there isn't a chance in hell that he'd slip in this. The bright lights of the clinic are a welcome sight and the stout older woman an even more welcome one, slowing back down to a walk as soon as he's under the awning and panting, ears plastered flat against the rain.
She's already questioning the blood and the sudden relief of being inside washes out the adrenaline, managing to stay steady just long enough to lay Heine down gently on one of the crisp white gurneys before his hand hits the wall for support, still embarrassingly out of breath. Out of shape was more like it, to be running someone around for two miles. Pushing a wheelchair or hefting him around short distances like in and out of the bath was one thing, but the gaping wound through his gut had only half-healed in his time here and he'd ruined his body's hard work on some of the newer layers of tissue repaired, looking a little apologetic when he notices the blood trail he's tracked inside.
But he'll follow Heine as far as they allow him, one hand on the thin mattress to walk beside him. ]
See? It wasn't so bad. They'll help you now.
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You need to lie down too! Look at you, you must have torn your stitches—
[ It takes Heine another moment to see the dark stains of blood, diluted by the rain but still very visible. ]
Randall. [ He reaches out, trying to touch his shirt. ] You... [ Fuck. What the fuck. He's bleeding out, worse than he is on this hospital gurney, and it's his fault for being an idiot and falling. ]
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It'll be fine. You're here now and everything will work out; I don't know what I would've done if it'd been too late.
[ He's woozy from the blood loss, swaying on his feet and trying not to tug on Heine's arm, finally letting go and allowing a nurse to walk him to a gurney of his own when they seem to finish fetching what they needed for Heine before they cart him off. His weight drops onto it with a loud creak, but still his eyes won't leave his master, ears plastered back in rain-soaked hair. ]
I'll be waiting, okay?
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Wait—
[ The nurse is getting him to an operating room. It's small, only lit at this moment by the lightning flashing outside. The doctor rushes in a moment later. Heine would probably be more worried if he hadn't been through military field hospitals already. Still, it takes great effort to stay awake and comprehend the questions doctor is asking him.
After answering them, Heine relaxes just a little. Maybe things will be okay, but he doubts that, and relaxing even that little bit has unconsciousness seeping in. The injection of anesthesia doesn't help, either.
When he wakes up hours later, the anesthesia hasn't worn off yet. Everything he's looking at is blurry as hell, but he manages to turn his head and try to find Randall. ]
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