Nameless

The nameless wasn't entirely certain how he found himself in another car. He'd left the last one so violently, after all. At least this one was stationary, so if he had to dive out of the door it would hurt less.

His body still reeled from the pain of impact. He remembered a sensation like flying, the screech of tires, and then impact. He remembered hitting a hard, sharp surface and scraping across it. He remembered the first drops of icy rain, and how hard he had fought just to get his face out of the mud. Just to take a few breaths of free, crisp air.

And now he was back in a car. Back in someone's power. A stranger, this time. He'd no idea who this was or what they wanted. He recalled a voice, a girl's voice screaming comforting nonsense against the wind and the rain and the thunder. Also a lot about a storm.

Oh, right. The storm. His fault. A Master of Storms doesn't die without some send off. He let his gaze wander out to where lightning struck a nearby tree. He should do something about the storm his pain and fear had called up. Only, he couldn't. He had nothing left, not even the strength to release the storm.

Ah, well, it would fade when he did. There shouldn't be too much damage; he hadn't had that much Power left.

Something warm landed over his knees. A blanket? Towel? Why was she giving him this thing? Did she honestly expect he could clean up the mess his presence caused? It wasn't even his fault; she was the one who'd forced him into the car!

She reached towards him and his body flinched away. He didn't mean to; she didn't seem to want to hurt him. He wasn't sure what she did want. He tried to focus on her voice, since she was talking again.

Oh. The girl was trying to help him.

It was too late for that; he was honestly shocked he'd survived the impact with the ground. He'd thought he was close enough to magic starved that the damage would be enough to finish him. Apparently he was just a little tougher than he knew.

There was no reason to fight the girl. He held out his arm when she indicated she wanted to remove the jacket his Master had shoved onto him to hide his wounds and the manacles. Didn't want the neighbors to see. The thing was cold and wet and uncomfortable, she was right about that. It stuck to his wounds and his skin and moving around to help her remove it made him want to scream, but he bit his lip and held it in. He didn't want to frighten her.

She stared for a long time, once the jacket was gone and the extent of the damage to his body was visible. Then there was some fairly impressive cursing. Then she scrambled around with an odd little red and white box and came up with a handful of gauze rolls and bandages and oh, how sweet, she actually thought she could help him.

He was far too injured; far too broken. He was surprised he was even still alive, a few bandages weren't going to change anything.

Still, he supposed there was no harm in it. She took his left arm in hand, and applied some kind of cream. She spoke gently as she worked, explaining what she was doing. Her voice was soothing, and her touch was gentle. The nameless one tried to recall the last time anyone had touched him or spoken to him with kindness. Only dim memories met his efforts, of a hand ruffling his hair and hearty laughter around a fire.

She was wrapping gauze strips around his forearms. Was she trying to bind him? Why not just use the manacles? Oh, no, she was trying to soothe his injuries. He'd long ago stopped feeling individual hurts, everything just blended into one whole body ache, but he was shocked to find that the arm she tended actually hurt a slight bit less than all the rest of him. So that was nice.

She frowned at the manacle on his left wrist, and tugged lightly on it. The thing was in her way. The motion hurt abominably. The nameless one tried to swallow a cry of protest but a strangled whimper forced its way out of his throat despite his best efforts. Even cautious manipulation of the manacles was painful.

The girl apologized profusely and dropped the manacle, turned her attention to his other wounds. He knew he should tell her to stop wasting her time. Just let him crawl back into the storm and fade. But he was warm, and dry, and in a lot less pain than he had been just a few minutes ago. It was such a little thing, really, comfort. He knew such a gentle child would be upset when he inevitably died, and he hated that, but not enough to deny himself just one more kind word, one more careful touch. He should at least apologize while he could still speak. He thought he could still speak. He hadn't really tried. Just a word here or there. He thought he'd reassured her about the storm.

“Can you lean forward a little?” her voice was hesitant. “I know it hurts but... I think this cut on your shoulder, I think it goes down the back. I need to patch that up, it's bleeding.”

Oh. She hadn't seen the worst of it, had she? This was really going to upset the poor child. He should refuse. Only, she could just move him herself if she wanted. He didn't have the strength to stop her. Might as well cooperate.

He managed to twist to face away from her, which was good because he didn't have to see the disgust on her face but bad because it presented his vulnerable, injured back and shattered wing pattern to her sight.

And wow she must be the daughter of a sailor, to curse like that. It was really impressive given that she seemed to only have one language to work with.

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of her rustling around in the little box. What did she really think she was going to do? His back was a mess even before his impromptu meeting with the roadside. Given how it felt, he was fairly sure it was horrifying to look upon. He saw her hold up a tiny bandage, drop that quickly, and dig around some more. She came up with another roll of gauze and a little paper packet, which she also dropped after shaking her head slowly.

“I'm going to have to be a little, um, creative here,” she said, “Your back is... um. Bad. Kinda bad. But I've got this. I can help you. We're fine.”

Why did she keep using 'we' when she spoke? Sure, she would be fine, beyond whatever upset his death caused, but he was anything but fine. He was dying. She was likely trying to be comforting. Verbally binding their fates together, to reassure him she wasn't going to abandon him. It was... sweet. Yes.

He did worry a little what she meant by 'creative' though. Usually when people got creative around him, he ended up in even more pain.

She dove over the back of the seat again and there were some loud thumps, a little muttered cursing, and then she reappeared with yet another towel. Why was the back of her vehicle full of towels?

The girl folded the towel and pressed it against his back. He choked back a scream. That hurt like nothing else. He could feel every cut, every bruise, and the pressure of her hands through the towel was excruciating. At least she wasn't touching the pattern directly, the towel was in the way. That was some small mercy.

She continued her attempts at helping him by wrapping the entire roll of gauze around his back and chest, binding the towel in place. Well, that would effectively contain the bleeding, so he'd make less of a mess. And, after the initial pain of it, the towel did cushion the wounds when he turned to sit normally again.

He realized she was speaking again. He'd lost the thread of their conversation, if her talking while he fought not to scream counted as a conversation. He needed to focus. Although he couldn't recall why.

“I know this is going to hurt, but it's not safe to drive without a seat belt on.”

What?

He flinched as she leaned around him to pull a little strap of gray webbing material over his chest and lap. No, that was not comfortable at all. The strap held him tightly to the seat, and pressed against his bruised ribs.

The girl left his side, then, to climb back into the front seat. He glanced out of the window. The storm was still fierce; she'd said she didn't want to drive in it. Something must have changed her mind. He twisted his head to look out the window. There wasn't much to see, just rain and flares of lightning.

“I'll get you some help,” the girl was saying, “just hang in there, okay?”

Where did she think she was going to find help, exactly?

He let himself doze a little, listening to the girl's comforting nonsense. He wished he had the strength to reply.

Then there was a light in the distance, blue with white lettering. Wait.

“We're almost there,” she said.

Almost where?

Blue light, white lettering... he knew that sign. He tried to focus, and one word swam out of the girl's chatter.

Hospital.

No. No, he could not allow himself to be taken into a hospital. Sure, he looked human enough on the surface but it would take them only minutes to notice certain discrepancies about his person. Then, he'd be strapped down to a table in some lab before he could squeak.

He didn't want to spend his last hours in torment, cut open to satisfy human curiosity! He had suffered that fate before. Never again. Never.

His hands scrambled at the door with the strength of frantic panic. The road blurred past below, the gray asphalt looked almost liquid at this speed. It wouldn't feel like jumping into water, though. He knew that intimately.

His aching body begged him to reconsider. This was going to hurt so, so much. His hands faltered on the seat belt, and then a click and he leaned forward.

There was a shriek, and he felt a hand clutch at his back, at the waist of his jeans. He was yanked back into the car with all the air forced out of his lungs. The car swerved, and slammed to a stop.

The girl leaned over him and pulled the door shut, her other hand still tangled in his belt loops.

“Are you insane?” she demanded.

He locked his eyes on his knees.

“Seriously, why did you do that?” she asked, voice softer but still trembling with shock.

“No hospital,” he managed.

“What? Why? You're hurt. You're hurt so bad I don't know how you haven't bled out already. You need help, more help than I can give you. Just let me take you to the emergency room. They'll help.”

“No,” he said.

“Why not? Can you give me just one reason? Please?”

He needed something to offer her, or she'd just manhandle him wherever she wanted to take him. He didn't have the strength to fight her. He needed a reason she'd understand.

“He will find me,” he said.

“Who?”

“My master.”