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starlit-hopes-and-dreams · 2 years

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Chapter 5 ~ Everything hurts and I'm dying

Hidden Depths

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Genre: Fantasy whump

Written per Whumptober 2022 prompts

CW: captivity, untreated wounds, blood, mention of “paying” for an item with sexual favors, passing out? (I don’t even know about some of these lol)

WC: 1725 1778

AN: This is a shorter chapter. Because, well, it's time for a breather, right?

I mean, if you consider fresh out of the torture chamber a breather, that is 😅

Resh

It was all Resh could do to keep from screaming as he was half-dragged back to his cell. Whatever toxin had been on those plants left his muscles quivering and his skin so sensitive that even the touch of his shirt was unbearable. Every time he moved his legs, it sent jolts of pain through him, not that he had the strength to be doing much of that. He was so weak he could hardly hold his head up.

In the end, it took two guards to get him back. They dumped him inside, and he collapsed on the packed dirt floor right in front of the bars, unable to stand on his own. Resh had no idea how he would be able to work tomorrow, but he knew he wouldn't have much of a choice. Besides, he needed Mieste to look at his arm. He still couldn't feel the fingers on his right hand.

It had been loads of fun learning how to function with only his left hand. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a permanent change.

"Y'all are a buncha sick fucks," a familiar, though weak, voice said.

"Shut the fuck up, kid," a gruff voice replied. One of the guards.

The first voice belonged to Carr. Resh raised his head, trying to see where they would put him.

In a rare stroke of luck, Carr was placed in the cell directly across from him. Resh looked him over, not liking what he saw. Carr’s right hand had a slight tremor when he reached up to grip the bars. His vine-covered left hand was held up to his chest, probably protecting those broken fingers. Then there was Carr’s right leg. Blood soaked his pants where he had been stabbed, and more dripped into the dirt under his foot.

The guards turned to leave, talking quietly among themselves.

"Hey," Resh croaked, propping himself up on his left forearm. "Are you getting Mieste?"

One of them spun, a sneer on his face. "Scum like you and that piece of trash don't deserve a house call from the herbalist.” The guard snickered, moving away again. “You'll have to wait until clinic tomorrow."

Shit, that was not the response he wanted to hear. "At least give him some bandages! Hey!" he shouted, or at least tried to with what was left of his ruined voice, but the guards completely ignored him.

Fuck. Carr was just staring, like he couldn't understand what was happening. Perhaps he couldn't; kid looked like he'd lost a decent amount of blood. Resh couldn't stifle his moan as he pushed himself up. Sitting wasn’t much easier than standing, but he leaned against the bars, which was good enough to serve his purpose.

He tried not to cry as he stripped his shirt off, which went about as well as expected. When he inspected his chest, he expected to see charred skin based on the agonizing burning sensation the scrape of fabric against flesh had awoken. But his skin wasn't even reddened. Aside from his bleeding wrist and whatever his throat looked like, there wasn't a mark on him to prove he'd spent the last however many hours enduring the torturous touch of that plant.

It was a little unfair. There should be proof. A visible reason for him to feel the way he did. Instead, it looked like he was crying over nothing.

Resh surreptitiously wiped his eyes, but all he ended up doing was smearing the dirt and blood coating his hand on his face. Fucking pits. Fucking Marcus. Fuck it all. He clenched his jaw and balled his shirt up, eyeing the distance between his cell and Carr's.

"Whatcha doin?" Carr asked, sliding down the bars to sit on the ground. He pressed his hand to the hole in his thigh with a pained grimace.

"I can't wear this shirt right now, and you need a bandage," Resh said, not meeting Carr's eyes.

The distance between their cells was a bit far. Resh doubted he could make the throw with something as light as his shirt in his weakened state. Mother help him.

"Why?" Carr asked, his brow wrinkling.

"What do you mean, why? You're fucking bleeding everywhere." Resh looked up, noting how pale Carr's face looked. He was so small; Resh wondered how much blood Carr could really afford to lose.

Carr shook his head, uneven chunks of blond hair flopping across his forehead, the reddish tones absent in the dimly lit hall of cells. "Why would you gimme your shirt? What do you want for it?"

There was a wariness to the question, and the shadows darkening those hazel eyes had Resh forgetting all about his embarrassment.

"Carr, no! I just… I just don't want you to bleed out. It'll be a while until you can see Mieste during his clinic tomorrow."

Resh couldn’t hear anyone in the adjacent cells, which meant the other prisoners were probably still working. Or maybe even eating, depending on how late it was. Ugh, eating. They wouldn’t be getting any food for the rest of the day, that was for sure. Prisoners in this place only got to eat if they worked.

Silence. Resh used it to gather the strength to launch the damned shirt.

Carr worried his lower lip. "I... you don't… I don't want your help." He turned away from the bars, presenting Resh with his back.

Resh watched the boy’s shoulders quiver. Marked the uneven, too-fast cadence of the rise and fall of his chest. With Carr's back turned, and no one else in the cells or hall, it was the perfect opportunity to do what needed to be done to get his shirt over in the other cell. Resh just hated that Carr was thinking the things Resh knew he was thinking.

The purple pool of his magic beckoned to him, full of energy and writhing with a desire to be free. Resh formed a channel and concentrated on the dingy, wadded-up ball of gray fabric.

Purple light illuminated the space before him when the shirt rose into the air. Resh directed his magic to float the material across the hall, letting it plop to the ground beside Carr with enough force that the kid might actually think he’d thrown it. Then, Resh closed his eyes, waiting out the fading glow as he cut the channel and his magic dissipated.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he could use his magic to steal a key to his cell. Or if he was strong enough to use his power to hold back a few guards long enough to escape. But that would expose him as a mage, which could make an already bad situation worse if he was caught. And he was slow as fuck with his busted limbs, so unless he waited a few more months, he really had no chance anyway. Resh cursed himself for not experimenting more with his magic when he'd had the chance.

Holding his hand in front of his eyes, he cautiously opened them. No purple glow reflected back at him, so he was safe again. He looked across the hall, where his shirt lay untouched next to Carr's stiff body.

"Carr, please use my shirt," Resh said, exhaustion hammering him as he pressed his face to the bars. What little he'd done with his magic typically wouldn't take much energy, but he'd started out with next to nothing and now had less than nothing. Everything hurt–he just wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend he didn't exist.

"Don't need it."

But first, Resh needed to convince Carr he didn't want to trade his shirt for sexual favors. The very thought made him feel sick.

"Yes, you do," Resh said gently, eyeing the dark clumps of dirt beneath Carr's outstretched leg.

He had never heard Carr's voice sound so small; the kid had been all bluster and bravado and reckless defiance from the first moment he’d arrived. It made him uncomfortable that this was what knocked his attitude down a peg. It felt wrong.

"I promise I don't expect anything from you in return."

A sniff. Then, Carr reached out with his vine-covered hand. But he didn't pick the shirt up, just rested his hand on it and leaned his head back against the bars.

Damnit. Resh wished he could see Carr's face. Wished he could tell if the sniffling meant Carr was crying or if he was just hurting. Resh stayed silent, letting Carr work things out in his mind. Hopefully, he would figure this out before Resh passed out from sheer agonized exhaustion. At this point, it was difficult to even blink his damned eyes; they didn't want to stay open.

"Nobody does nothin for free," Carr finally said, fingers curling into the fabric at his side. "'Sides, you got hurt cuz of me. Why do you even care, if not for that? I got nothin else t’ pay with."

"Carr—" Resh began.

"Not that I'm willin t’ pay, you hear? So don't come lookin for a good time just cuz you're too stupid t’ keep your shirt on." Carr's voice was harsh, but his hand visibly shook when he finally picked up the shirt and shook the dirt loose.

Thank fuck. Resh didn't even care about the words, just the actions. He forced his eyes to stay open until Carr began to tie the shirt around his leg, then carefully laid down in front of the bars. Resh couldn't have moved to his cot if his life depended on it. Just the act of lying down had tears flowing down his cheeks. Fresh waves of pain rippled throughout his body when his back hit the floor, and he sucked in air, trying to breathe through it. Gods, he couldn't understand why it still hurt so much.

"Resh? Are you okay?"

Was Carr worried? Resh turned his head and tried to open his eyes again. All he could see was a blurry pale oval across the hall. Carr's face. "Mm fine," Resh mumbled. "Just… tired."

"I'm sorry I got you hurt," Carr said, sniffing again.

"Not… your fault," Resh said, eyes drifting closed. The oblivion of unconsciousness was dragging him under, his pain-filled, depleted body unable to keep functioning.

No wait, he needed to… needed to say something else. "Not gonna hurt you, Carr. Swear."

More sniffling.

Resh tried again. "Hear me?" His words sounded slurred; maybe Carr wasn't understanding.

Then, "Yeah, I hear you. Go t’ sleep, Resh."

Good, that was good...

Resh wished Carr believed him as well—

But Carr… probably needed

proof.

His thoughts drifted away.

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[ID: The banner is a blue-green background, with tree branches arching over a set of blue-green eyes, forming an approximation of a face. The words Hidden Depths are written in white above the eyes. end ID]

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