synaestheidetic: (Default)
Alfred Graves ([personal profile] synaestheidetic) wrote2015-06-04 10:08 pm

for thomas

[He's been like this, locked in this personal prison, inundated with sounds and sights and colours he can't turn off, for at least two days - some part of his mind is still aware enough to catalogue it. Two days since Aurora was shouting at him while they were surrounded, their cell breaking apart as Harry and the others tried to shoot him out. Two days since he fumbled his earplugs out so he could hear what she was saying, fumbled them onto the floor, and then all he'd consciously heard were the gunshots, obliterating everything else until his world was vivid ringing and loud bangs, flashes of colour obscuring his vision, hands clasping at him.

He'd tried to take the red pill, large and oval, because he'd heard them, heard them whispering - Alfred can't be taken alive. He knows too much. - but the pill had joined his earplugs, his hands failing to function. After that it had been nothing. Barked German and French and English and he hadn't understood any of it.

But his subconscious remained, cataloguing everything around him. He'd gone with the Germans, pushed and pulled, and he hadn't slept, but he'd blacked out, unconscious, on autopilot. They'd hurt him, over and over, inflicted pain to try to make him talk but he couldn't speak, couldn't make his mouth work even if he'd wanted to. And eventually it had gotten to be too much - the pain, the noises, overwhelmed, he'd gone away mentally. Flitted off into a prison of his own making, a sanctuary inside himself.

Awareness returns vague and still coloured with flashes of blue and red, blocking everything out, and he's aware of voices.

English. Lilting. Accents.

He isn't sure if he's still in France, but he's been captured by someone else. He stands still with eyes wide open, nostrils flaring as he struggles to breathe through the vise around his chest, the anxiety spiking, his heart pounding.

Allies. He's with allies. But he can't pull out of it, can't move, his hands are shaking, his body is shaking. His mouth opens and then closes, but he still can't speak, can't really see - all he knows is that blood is pumping from his mouth and down his forehead, that there are pricks of startling pain that drag his attention up and down his body, and someone is in front of him, but he can't see, just gulping for breath like a fish.]
smokingandplotting: like a rat caught in the light (!!!!)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-05 05:28 am (UTC)(link)
He won't talk, the sergeant says, as though he's some kind of mental doctor. We need to hear what he's got to say. Get him to talk. And then he totters away, off to tend to the other patients, leaving Thomas with a man who looks as though he's doing his best impression of a fish.

Hell. This is not what he signed up for. Medic, he'd said, because he thought that'd be an easy job. He ought to have just dodged draft and gone to prison, for how easy this job has proven to be.

"Alfred?" That's the man's Christian name, isn't it? Perhaps that will work better. Thomas hesitantly touches his forearm. "Can you hear me?"
Edited 2015-06-05 05:29 (UTC)
smokingandplotting: pining and shit but it's fine (no let's talk it's fine)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-05 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
"Shh-- shh, shh, calm down--" He wraps his fingers a little tighter around his arm, keeping him as still as he can. The man looks as if he's going to have a nervous breakdown, and while Thomas doesn't blame him, there's not much he can do to stop it. "Look, you're all right, yeah? You're safe now. You're in a medical tent, we're all British here, you're perfectly safe."
smokingandplotting: (this is not a real smile)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-05 05:48 am (UTC)(link)
"All right." A pill? He hasn't any idea what he's talking about. Likely it's nonsense-- the same kind of rubbish you spout when you've just woken up. It doesn't matter. A pill won't turn the tide of the war. Thomas takes a step forward, pulling Alfred towards the cot in the corner. "Come on. Come sit, all right?"
smokingandplotting: (pic#8223054)

thanks for not psting this last night dw you're a peach

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-05 10:05 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yeah." Carefully he kneels before the man. He has superficial wounds all down his front and on his legs, but Thomas doesn't dare try and get him to remove his clothes yet. He's clearly clinging to sanity by his fingernails; better to let him bleed a little more than set him off. Still, he keeps an eye on them even as he talks. "The rest of your unit pointed us towards you. It took us two days to find you."

Not, obviously, him. But Thomas is happy to take the credit.
smokingandplotting: and your finest jelly beans ... raw (yes I’ll have the milk steak)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-05 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"Three days ahead." And then, in case this man is the sort to heroically leap to his feet, adds firmly: "You're to stay here for at least another two, til you're not so out of it. You're half-starved and dehydrated, not to mention all your other injuries. You can't leave."

But now he seems sensible enough, and so Thomas risks: "Can you take your clothes off, do you think? I need to treat you."
smokingandplotting: (pic#8223049)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-06 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
"Uh-- no." Probably not. Who the hell has earplugs while you're in a war? He'd kill for fruit, or clothes that aren't worn through, or even a proper bar of soap, never mind earplugs. "Might be able to stuff some cotton in your ears, though, if you need be."

Torso exposed, Thomas begins to work-- dabbing at the man's cuts and bruises, wincing as he does. The Germans really have worked him over.
smokingandplotting: like a rat caught in the light (!!!!)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-06 03:29 am (UTC)(link)
"Well done." He glances up in mild surprise. His name has been said over the past few hours, of course, but he'd thought his patient passed out the entire time. Apparently not. Thomas' eyes linger on his face, intrigued, before returning to his cuts. "Care to take a guess on my age next?"
smokingandplotting: (pic#8223051)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-06 04:06 am (UTC)(link)
He returns that smile, his own a little sweeter than it ought to be. This lad won't be around for long, after all, and even if he is, it's not as if they have much private space here. But he's pretty, and his jawline keeps catching Thomas' eye-- so he'll be kind, just to see if it gets him anything.

"Thomas," he replies, and sets the kit on the bed next to Alfred. "Go on and take some cotton, if you'd like. How old are you, then? You can't be younger than twenty-five."
smokingandplotting: (i did not know that!)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-06 04:16 am (UTC)(link)
Don't they all. Thomas can still hear the explosions when he closes his eyes, the bullets whistling, the screams of terror and horror from the dying . . . but a bit of cotton won't help. Still, Alfred is pretty enough, and cotton common enough, that Thomas doesn't mind.

Then again . . . there's something odd about the way he turns his head. Thomas begins wrapping bandages around him, mindful of his bruises. "Oh?" he says, because it's leading without assuming.
smokingandplotting: (i did not know that!)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-06 04:22 am (UTC)(link)
"A condition?" He sounds a half-wit, repeating his words, but the phrase catches his attention. A condition he needs kept secret . . . well, that sounds rather familiar. "I'll keep your secret."
smokingandplotting: (pic#8223034)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-06 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
How odd. Thomas blinks, trying to comprehend for a moment. To taste words, to see color where letters ought to be-- how can that be? But then the boy says that, so quietly and simply, and Thomas' heart drops.

"That's not entirely true," he says slowly, after a slight pause. He has to pick his words so carefully now. "Nothing wrong with being a bit different."
smokingandplotting: (ugu)

[personal profile] smokingandplotting 2015-06-06 06:24 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, hell. Thomas' heart pounds, his breath catching in his throat. It's foolish to move so quickly, but Alfred has started it, hadn't he? Thomas hesitates for just a moment before reaching out to brush his fingers against his cheek.

"Suppose that's why you ran into me, then, isn't it?" he murmurs. "To teach you better."