[RO] [M] It feels like falling, it feels like rain

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: Thoughts of detailed injuries and blood.

Each brave step forward - I take three steps behind - It's mind over matter - Matter over mind

OOC: Deonach POV, set just before this thread - Word Count: 732

In a side room of a stranger's home, Deonach sat staring into his open medical bag, amber eyes searching back for a reason why he'd chosen to bring it. He knew why; just in case Fredrick or Peony needed help during their trip. But that had been a precaution, Deonach never had any intention to predict something like this, part of the man wished he'd thrown the bag away long ago. Sterilise it by burning it in fire, never looking at those tools meant to heal that harmed the mind of the one wielding them ever again. In his hands Deo had rolled up his leather apron, soon to be used to help prevent his body from beind caked in blood, not that it could stop much. Already the older man had years of crusted blood dried against his skin, soaking through and into his body, all from the many... many people he had tried to save. 

It should've been done. Fredrick should've been Deonach's last and only patient. The man wanted to not blink and see blood, pus and open wounds. He wanted to be able to look at a person and not judge how quickly he needed to act in order to save their life, but instead value their time and have a conversation, no pressure on his part. The Gang had granted Deonach that much; despite his gifts as a healer, he'd hardly been called on to help. Fredrick was, as stated, his only patient. Which only meant making sure the young man didn't worsen his wounds or make any more scars. It had felt wrong at first. Deonach felt like a cloud of dust; always in the way, easily removed with a gust of wind. He hadn't been offering the Gang much at all, yet young Freddy had never asked Deo for anything either. Perhaps the boy was smart, perhaps his heart sang like his late mother's, always tuning into the true emotions of others. Deonach was a healer, one of the best, but he longed to never look at blood ever again. 

This wasn't a stranger's home. This was home, back home in Naples. Under the cage of the Carceri, sitting in a quiet room, collecting thoughts before preparing to save the life of a sacrifice. Scooping his hands through blood, clots catching in his long strands of fur, holding organs together whilst hopelessly stitching a fatal wound. Counting down the seconds before the patient took their last breath; knowing he could never have saved them from the start, yet trying all the same. Not time to stop, no time to mourn the dead or collect his own thoughts and reason that it wasn't his fault. Onto the next patient. 

An endless cycle, life was so fragile, skin so quick to tear and blood so eager to flow. 

Deonach took a breath, catching onto nothing but the thick smell of herbal medicines and the sweat of those waiting for the future, opening his eyes and counting all the things he could see in the room. Ornaments that weren't from his old home, light filtering in that was far from Italy, a bag of medical supplies that had been almost entirely remade by the hands of the one Deonach now served. The one who had told him that he didn't need to do this, that Deonach wasn't responsible for the life of someone he didn't even know, given he'd only just arrived. But sweet Fredrick didn't know... because of course Deonach was responsible. His hands were the hands of a curse and a miracle. Their touch could save a life... or confirm it was never going to be saved to begin with. No answer would come until Deo tried, as he would always try, because his life seemed inescapable at this point. 

He would pray, if he actually thought there was anything in the air around him beyond particles of dust. 

So instead Deonach prepared; checking each tool, going over the routine in his head, remembering times where he'd managed to remove a limb successfully. Anaylse, predict, prepare. Deonach could not think of who he was going to be healing, nor their family or their name. If he did that then the guilt would harm him even more.

Fredrick Knight

I want to take shelter but I'm ready, ready to fight.
Somewhere in the middle I feel a little paralyzed.

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