Take the deep end and swim 'til you can stand

They were all laughing as they trekked across the land, boisterous and loud and so very free, enjoying the high of a successful exploration and a new addition to their map as they sought a place to make camp. There was talk of indulging in the good wine that Lucien had snuck into their reserves and Lune was composing a song in real time, Sciel was dancing with Catherine rather than marching and Alan was begging Verso to tell him all about the mysterious girl they'd all assumed he would return home to. Gustave stole glances at the back of Verso's head, refusing to give space to the happy little flutter each time Verso pointed out he had no one like that.

The attack came before anyone could so much as scream.

A chromatic blast scattered them with its force, and guttural cries scraped together like metal against metal filled the air. Someone called for a retreat. Sound became a luxury. Red scattered across the battlefield in an instant, tinting his vision. Sharp copper filled his nose as Gustave found himself thrown every which way — or maybe that was him moving, scrambling, fighting to find safety and shelter where there simply was none. His legs refused to work right. The air had grown terribly cold and suffocating.

Firm hands grabbed him by the shoulders, and he felt himself dragged as his vision continued to blur. There was an awful choking sound coming from somewhere close yet not close enough, muffled by whatever cotton had gotten stuck in his ears. His back hit something hard as Verso's outline pieced itself together, moving this way and that, stepping over him, around him, then kneeling in front.

"Stay with me," the man hissed out, sharp, despite the underwater quality to his usually calm voice. "You fucking stay with me, Gustave."

It was an odd statement to say in the midst of whatever had happened. Where would Gustave go while all his friends were fighting for their lives, screaming across the battlefield and roaring with fury.

Verso was fumbling inside his pack, his hands covered in red — blood, Gustave realized belatedly, so much blood — and plucking out supplies, scattering them across the space between them.

Pain detonated through his arm the moment Verso touched it, and Gustave couldn't contain the agonized cry that tore itself from his throat. The shushing didn't help. The hand over his mouth only made it harder to catch his breath, turned sharp and laboured.

"I know, I know, I know!" Verso's voice trembled, his jaw tight, his teeth grit in pain. "I know it hurts, I know, but we— you have to stay quiet—"

He couldn't, no matter how hard he tried to swallow the cries. Each of Verso's movements reignited the agony like an inferno swallowing his arm whole. Gustave choked on them anyway, begged Verso to stop, for a break, but the man only continued with rapid movements.

And when he tried to push Verso away because he simply couldn't handle it anymore, he was met with air where his left arm should be. The bandages were already soaked through, the ruined flesh still visible where Verso hadn't yet had a chance to cover it.

His arm was gone.

His arm was gone.

His arm was fucking gone.

"My—" The word gasped out of him, strangled by unmanaged fear and poorly managed pain. "My arm— Verso, my arm—"

It was too much. The hysteria was pulling his screams from his throat, begging for answers, for help finding the limb, for help to be put out of his misery. Strong arms held him tight as Gustave tried to dig into the ruined limb, to feel, to confirm, even as blood began to spill anew and the pain wouldn't stop, it was never going to stop—