afloat. [blane & n] (Patreon)

synopsis: N gets injured from a hunt. badly.

content warning: mentions and descriptions of blood and injury.

note: a little different from what i usually post on here but i want to branch out from the usual romantic drabble and write about the ros and their different backstories/relationships instead. if it's not your taste, however, a Rylan drabble will be next as per the poll.

N’s vision is coming in and out. Blane’s face floats in their vision, lips mouthing words they don’t understand. Everything sounds underwater. They feel underwater.

Their left leg is numb. Their right hand feels like the weight of an anvil. It was only a cut, a small throw across the pavement and a scrape against the rough surface, so why is everything swimming? Maybe they got a concussion.

Blane is saying something again, hovering their face directly over N’s. They can see the panic in their partner’s eyes, the emerald hue bright with emotions that they usually shove down.

“Stay with me,” Blane seems to be saying. “Keep your eyes fucking open, Alves.”

Easier said than done.

From what N last remembers, their leg is wrapped up in bandages. Once white, they’re now soaked through with scarlet, though that doesn’t stop Blane from applying pressure to the wounds. Their hands are stained, but they don’t seem to notice.

N doesn’t think they’ve seen Blane this panicked. They’ve both had injuries from a hunt before, scars from them, even, but neither of them have been close to passing out. The worst they had was Blane breaking a bone, which they managed to stay conscious for.

N is losing too much blood to stay awake for much longer.

“Come on, come on,” Blane mutters.

N hears what sounds like a distant doorbell, though it could have easily been their imagination. Sounds are roaring through their head, like the world just turned everything up to maximum volume. The pain in N’s leg worsens as Blane gets up, flashing a brief anxious look before moving out of sight.

Whatever Blane was doing before, it was keeping N at bay. But now? Now, they’re falling. The ground is opening up beneath them, engulfing them in a single gulp and stealing away the last slivers of light.

They catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar person—a warlock, most likely—and a snippet of Blane’s voice, desperately asking “What do I do?” before the world goes black.

—

N wakes up in a room that isn’t theirs. It takes a while for their brain to put the pieces together, but they’re in the infirmary. The pristine walls and the smell of rubbing alcohol suddenly make sense.

Though their leg still aches, the majority of the pain is gone. Moving it still hurts, but N thinks they could stand if they tried. That’s an improvement.

N woke up thinking Blane would be with them, but they glance over at an empty chair. They aren't too bothered, thinking their partner simply went to get some food, but then they hear the voices. 

Caine.

Their boss seems to be in an argument with Blane, demanding why N was first brought to their apartment rather than the infirmary. As usual, Blane goes on the defence, explaining how N didn’t know how bad their wound was until they pulled up. By the tone of his voice, N can tell that Caine doesn’t believe that—why he wouldn't confuses N—but he doesn’t say it aloud.

They leave it at that.

N rests their head back against the pillow as footsteps replace the sound of conversation. Blane pushes aside the curtains and enters N’s makeshift bedroom, eyes filling with relief the moment they see N is awake.

N is expecting a comment or even perhaps a rant about Caine’s unfair treatment of them, but there isn’t either. Blane simply sits down beside N on the infirmary bed, careful not to crush them, and meets their gaze.

“You’re awake.”

“I am.”

Blane’s gaze sweeps N’s face. They don't have to say anything for N to understand. They heard it in their voice last night. Saw it in the panicked looks and shaky hands. They both knew N wasn't going to die, but that didn't mean the situation wasn't alarming.

Still, they say it anyway.

“Promise me you’ll check your wounds next time," Blane whispers. "Even if you think they’re minor.”

I don’t think I could go through with that again.