[ so this is a thread for around that time where shirou is still in the hospital and is at least 30-40% swords but that's not going to stop juno from visiting him this time around. ]
I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.
[ pot. kettle.
juno managed to avoid the worst of the battle, by bullying a fellow capable of teleporting into his service. any scrapes and bruises are the result of his carelessness in acquiring a sniping position, grabbing the hands and arms and shoulders of those who were scared or in need. any of the wounds he's got are devoid of potatomonster infection - but shirou - shirou had gone headfirst into the midst of them. and now he was
swords.
there's really no other way to describe it.
he tugs one of the heavy, padded chairs over to the side of the hospital bed and settles in it, slouching down. and down further. ]
[ the sterile hospital is familiar. not even out two weeks and he's back again, worse this time. (yukari, is yukari alright?)
the blades cut through every bandage and plaster the nurses tried to put on him, making an attempt to separate the grating mess of steel and edges that is his arm from interlocking with the retreating blades in his chest, opening more wounds in the raw flesh in between and risking more blades. the only solution these poor overworked nurses have found so far is to sling his arm up from the bed's canopy with nothing more than a web of silvery suture wires: also steel. a metal gurney is on top of the mattress to preventing it from being shredded too, so ever slight shift is just a chorus of killing steel on healing.
every breath is painful, but less so than before. only like he's being slowly cut into a thousand pieces, instead of shredded instantly, and its easier to move his focus around. when someone different, injured another way but still coming over to the side of his bed. the only difference is he's in here by himself now. there's no mismatched collection of other survivors as young as he is and more, watching him —
survivors of what? (fire. lots of fire. and screams before they died out, with more fire and a heat that's too much to bear for that small body —)shirou's reply splutters out before it's fully lit, and his eyes glaze over for a moment that feels like an eternity. eventually he recovers, poorly, but better than he was that first day, because he has more context for the face next to his bed. ]
Hi Juno-san. [ scruffy, the shock of dark hair, there's superficial visual similarities, but it's different — and he's pretty sure juno isn't a mage. ] Isn't this weird?
[ his nephew-not-nephew is made of swords, and somehow, this comes as less a surprise to juno as the knowledge that this town is the last remaining bastion of humanity against a hoard of monstrosities in a dead or still-dying world. at least, when it came to mutated monstrosities, he'd had prior experience. a kid who bled swords was, uh. well, that was new and unexpected.
the nurses have shirou bound up and cared for as best that they can, he assumes; the way they've strung him up with wire and supported him on a metal tray makes juno a little queasy. there's no blood, but the injuries are still there, and the nature of them is still jarring enough that he can't quite focus on shirou's body. just his face. no, not even his face ( there's a scratch on his cheek, and the tips of tiny swords sticking out there ). just his eyes. ]
This is weird.
[ he agrees, without lying about it or mincing his words. it's weird. ]
You need anything?
[ he's careful, as he reaches out to press his fingers against the flat edge of one of the swords peeking out of shirou's body. the act is bold, inquisitive. it makes him sick to his stomach, and he jerks his hand back quicker than he can blink the wave of dizziness away. ] Extra dose of painkillers? Something to eat? They even fed you, yet?
[ this is ridiculous. he's goddamn hovering over this kid, and can't find the means to stop ]
[ shirou starts to shrug, eliciting a chorus of screeches from the metal under his torso, which in turn morphs his shrug into a wince (both at the noise, and at the pain of the blades shifting in his body). ]
I'm fine — they don't hurt nearly as much anymore. And the bleeding stopped.
[ stoppered up by the swords, which leave raw, fading scars in their wake as they retreat back into his body. none of these are answers to juno's questions, of course, in traditional shirou fashion. because, he's fine, he can handle. maybe someone who isnt healed by swords needs them more, and he's not going to fault those poor overworked nurses if they miss him while they try to take care of everyone else, even if he wants to help them. ]
[ the screeching nearly does him in - juno is a lady with a delicate constitution and this body horror is really, really making him uncomfortable. he feels his stomach flipflop, and nearly goes jibbery over it. ( praise him, he's holding it together for shirou. ) ]
So, you bleed. And also swords?
[ yes, that is the sentence structure he uses. so - explain this, because he's really trying to wrap his mind around it. the swords are real, he'd felt the flat of one under his fingertips, before he'd remembered how badly this entire situation was giving him the heebie-jeebies. this whole thing is - yeah, it's weird. ]
Um. Not usually. The other times... I just passed out. I think. Without the swords, I mean. I bleed normally... normally.
[ "the other times" meaning a brief memory of grabbing saber's hand and pulling her away from a corpse come back from death, the explosion after -- and then the pain before he blacked out and woke up at home, uninjured. ]
I'm okay, Juno-san. Really.
[ you are in the hospital and 30% composed of swords after you nearly got eaten, child no youre not okay. if you just freaked out a little more, even that would be more okay than how calm you are about this. ]
[ can shirou even remember? their memories are faulty, in this place, prone to being twofold ( one lie, one truth: good luck figuring out which is which ) and he knows that if he can't trust certain recollections, shirou probably can't either. ]
I dunno, nothing's ever tried to eat me before. [ shirou's fingers of his real hand try to knot themselves in the sheets, but instead simply slip on the metal of the gurney, his gaze distant once again. there's things he's known about himself since the last time he woke up in this hospital that have never changed, but its trying to fit everything else in around them that is so hard. like a part of him just wants to be happy, and is resisting looking over the edge at what might be deeper down inside.
but memory is a slippery slope, and like the grip he cant seem to find on the gurney, he can't stop himself from trying to give juno a true answer. ]
I've dreamed about the swords, though. And...
[ shirou's pause is longer, his gaze even more distant, and thinks about waking up in the hallway in a pool of his own blood. the sensation of a spear thrust right into his heart, splitting his panicked breath in half. it was right over his heart — right there, a vertical puncture wound. he can almost feel it, just thinking about it, and unconsciously starts to reach for the phantom injury. instead of a pierced heart, all he finds is a thin cut on his palm as he thoughtlessly touches one of his own swords, the new pain sharp against the dull, constant wave in his chest and arm for only a second. almost missed. he hides the cut in a balled up fist, but still, he can feel the blood starting to seep against his fingers.
finally, he looks back up at juno, eyes bright, brow furrowed. ]
I... I think— I was killed, once. It kind of felt — feels like that. But all over, instead of just in one spot.
[ plenty of things have made attempts at eating him; a client or two, for the ratings. a beast made of rows and rows of grinding gears, like teeth that were ready to churn meat and bones into butter. a rabbit, once. that was before he'd learned how to deal with their ilk, through bribery. one of the monsters that had invaded the town, most recently, before he'd wedged his gun between his throat and its mouth, and blown enough holes in it to make it flinch back. that one, however, he wouldn't tell shirou. he wouldn't tell nureyev, either. nobody needed to know - he'd made it out fine, after all.
shirou reflects on something, and juno tries to reach for that wandering, still-flesh hand of his before it hits blade, before it is cut up as well. he's too little, too late, but he stuffs his fingers into the palm of shirou's hand all the same and tugs it away from the network of swords that poke through his injuries. the blood, in this volume, doesn't make him as woozy, but the feel of it pooling - warm and slick - forces him to lower his head for a moment, tucking his face between his knees.
he doesn't let go of shirou's hand. ]
Don't... make it twice, then. [ what the HELL is this kid ] I need you around.
[ juno tugs on shirou's hand, trying to draw his attention. trying to drag him out of his own head. ]
I've known a lot of people who've... died and gotten hurt, I don't want that happening to you. Not on my watch.
[ 'killed', though. now he looks painfully uncomfortable ]
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action.
I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.
[ pot. kettle.
juno managed to avoid the worst of the battle, by bullying a fellow capable of teleporting into his service. any scrapes and bruises are the result of his carelessness in acquiring a sniping position, grabbing the hands and arms and shoulders of those who were scared or in need. any of the wounds he's got are devoid of potatomonster infection - but shirou - shirou had gone headfirst into the midst of them. and now he was
swords.
there's really no other way to describe it.
he tugs one of the heavy, padded chairs over to the side of the hospital bed and settles in it, slouching down. and down further. ]
This is exactly what I meant by "stupid".
action.
the blades cut through every bandage and plaster the nurses tried to put on him, making an attempt to separate the grating mess of steel and edges that is his arm from interlocking with the retreating blades in his chest, opening more wounds in the raw flesh in between and risking more blades. the only solution these poor overworked nurses have found so far is to sling his arm up from the bed's canopy with nothing more than a web of silvery suture wires: also steel. a metal gurney is on top of the mattress to preventing it from being shredded too, so ever slight shift is just a chorus of killing steel on healing.
every breath is painful, but less so than before. only like he's being slowly cut into a thousand pieces, instead of shredded instantly, and its easier to move his focus around. when someone different, injured another way but still coming over to the side of his bed. the only difference is he's in here by himself now. there's no mismatched collection of other survivors as young as he is and more, watching him —
survivors of what? (fire. lots of fire. and screams before they died out, with more fire and a heat that's too much to bear for that small body —)shirou's reply splutters out before it's fully lit, and his eyes glaze over for a moment that feels like an eternity. eventually he recovers, poorly, but better than he was that first day, because he has more context for the face next to his bed. ]
Hi Juno-san. [ scruffy, the shock of dark hair, there's superficial visual similarities, but it's different — and he's pretty sure juno isn't a mage. ] Isn't this weird?
no subject
the nurses have shirou bound up and cared for as best that they can, he assumes; the way they've strung him up with wire and supported him on a metal tray makes juno a little queasy. there's no blood, but the injuries are still there, and the nature of them is still jarring enough that he can't quite focus on shirou's body. just his face. no, not even his face ( there's a scratch on his cheek, and the tips of tiny swords sticking out there ). just his eyes. ]
This is weird.
[ he agrees, without lying about it or mincing his words. it's weird. ]
You need anything?
[ he's careful, as he reaches out to press his fingers against the flat edge of one of the swords peeking out of shirou's body. the act is bold, inquisitive. it makes him sick to his stomach, and he jerks his hand back quicker than he can blink the wave of dizziness away. ] Extra dose of painkillers? Something to eat? They even fed you, yet?
[ this is ridiculous. he's goddamn hovering over this kid, and can't find the means to stop ]
no subject
I'm fine — they don't hurt nearly as much anymore. And the bleeding stopped.
[ stoppered up by the swords, which leave raw, fading scars in their wake as they retreat back into his body. none of these are answers to juno's questions, of course, in traditional shirou fashion. because, he's fine, he can handle. maybe someone who isnt healed by swords needs them more, and he's not going to fault those poor overworked nurses if they miss him while they try to take care of everyone else, even if he wants to help them. ]
no subject
So, you bleed. And also swords?
[ yes, that is the sentence structure he uses. so - explain this, because he's really trying to wrap his mind around it. the swords are real, he'd felt the flat of one under his fingertips, before he'd remembered how badly this entire situation was giving him the heebie-jeebies. this whole thing is - yeah, it's weird. ]
You know, I can get a nurse if you're in pain.
no subject
[ "the other times" meaning a brief memory of grabbing saber's hand and pulling her away from a corpse come back from death, the explosion after -- and then the pain before he blacked out and woke up at home, uninjured. ]
I'm okay, Juno-san. Really.
[ you are in the hospital and 30% composed of swords after you nearly got eaten, child no youre not okay. if you just freaked out a little more, even that would be more okay than how calm you are about this. ]
no subject
[ can shirou even remember? their memories are faulty, in this place, prone to being twofold ( one lie, one truth: good luck figuring out which is which ) and he knows that if he can't trust certain recollections, shirou probably can't either. ]
You don't have to be.
[ "okay" ]
I wouldn't tell anybody, if you weren't.
no subject
but memory is a slippery slope, and like the grip he cant seem to find on the gurney, he can't stop himself from trying to give juno a true answer. ]
I've dreamed about the swords, though. And...
[ shirou's pause is longer, his gaze even more distant, and thinks about waking up in the hallway in a pool of his own blood. the sensation of a spear thrust right into his heart, splitting his panicked breath in half. it was right over his heart — right there, a vertical puncture wound. he can almost feel it, just thinking about it, and unconsciously starts to reach for the phantom injury. instead of a pierced heart, all he finds is a thin cut on his palm as he thoughtlessly touches one of his own swords, the new pain sharp against the dull, constant wave in his chest and arm for only a second. almost missed. he hides the cut in a balled up fist, but still, he can feel the blood starting to seep against his fingers.
finally, he looks back up at juno, eyes bright, brow furrowed. ]
I... I think— I was killed, once. It kind of felt — feels like that. But all over, instead of just in one spot.
no subject
[ plenty of things have made attempts at eating him; a client or two, for the ratings. a beast made of rows and rows of grinding gears, like teeth that were ready to churn meat and bones into butter. a rabbit, once. that was before he'd learned how to deal with their ilk, through bribery. one of the monsters that had invaded the town, most recently, before he'd wedged his gun between his throat and its mouth, and blown enough holes in it to make it flinch back. that one, however, he wouldn't tell shirou. he wouldn't tell nureyev, either. nobody needed to know - he'd made it out fine, after all.
shirou reflects on something, and juno tries to reach for that wandering, still-flesh hand of his before it hits blade, before it is cut up as well. he's too little, too late, but he stuffs his fingers into the palm of shirou's hand all the same and tugs it away from the network of swords that poke through his injuries. the blood, in this volume, doesn't make him as woozy, but the feel of it pooling - warm and slick - forces him to lower his head for a moment, tucking his face between his knees.
he doesn't let go of shirou's hand. ]
Don't... make it twice, then. [ what the HELL is this kid ] I need you around.
[ juno tugs on shirou's hand, trying to draw his attention. trying to drag him out of his own head. ]
I've known a lot of people who've... died and gotten hurt, I don't want that happening to you. Not on my watch.
[ 'killed', though. now he looks painfully uncomfortable ]