#broken hand

He curled around his broken hand, gasping for air and rasping out dry little cries. He just needed the gag off. That was all he needed.

He reached back with his good hand, pressing his other palm to his head to try and steady himself as he scrabbled at the buckles.

Esial tried and failed a few more times to undo the buckle, his fingers showing no sign of healing any time soon. He was too blood starved and dried out for it. Each breath was getting harder and harder, his lungs drying with each intake. He wasn’t certain how much longer he would be able to actually consume air, especially as his vision started to fade in and out and his hands shook even more than they did before.

As the car started to slow, the sound of shouts and greetings drifting to him, Esial felt a single, tiny tear drip over his nose. He was at Amon's entire mercy now. His one chance to help himself a little failed completely. If he had more water in him, he would have cried himself into a little puddle.

The car came to a stop in the middle of a camp, the language completely unfamiliar to him with a couple of English words thrown in here and there. Someone grabbed his bag, hauling him up and over the edge, dropping him roughly on the ground. Esial arched his back, trying to get air back into his dry lungs, but nothing would come as reality started to pass from his nerves.

His body went loose as he drifted away, observing what was happening to him from under drooped lids, his brain only vaguely recording what was happening and he began to fade into a state of torpor.

His bag was dragged somewhere, and when the bag was undone, he was laying in the shade, and though it was hot and the sun threatened to burn him through the holes in the canvas above, it felt like being hit in the face with an arctic breeze.

Air eeked back into his lungs, now much easier to breath with it being a little less stifling, and he got enough back to weakly shift aching arms. His muscles felt like they were on fire, screaming out for water and oxygen. Just the day before he had been fine. He had been breathing with healthy lungs, maybe a bit hungry and thirsty, but he was fine. It made him feel even more weak and fragile than when he had been overpowered by Amon.

Speaking of.....

"There you are. My, your poor mouth looks terrible, Esial. And what did you do to your hand?"

Esial couldn't even whimper with the state his vocal chords were in, so he just closed his eyes, trying hard to get oxygen to his extremities. He couldn't even feel his feet.

"Bind him to that pole there," Amon said to a man beside him, an African man wearing dusty, sweat stained robes and a turban. Despite his state, he was better dressed than some of the others Esial had been able to glimpse.

"Now Esial," Amon said, leaning on his parasol with white gloved hands in the shade the tarp provided. He continued in a tone as though talking to a child who did not often listen to instructions. "If you move too much, the pole will collapse and you will not get another shelter. Do you understand?"

Esial slowly nodded as the worker crouched down and hefted Esial up to sit against the pole, coming around to bind his hands with cuffs that rattled with the sound of wrapped silver. Esial shivered as they were locked in place, but was unable to say anything, his legs sprawled awkwardly in the dust in front of him, his shirt slipping from his shoulders, and his mouth still wide open. The pain had been traded for tingling in his fangs, and he felt as though he was moments away from going numb all over.

Water. He just needed a sip of water.

He looked up at Amon, pleading as best he could with just his eyes. He would be good. He had to be, but he would be good. He just needed water. Not even blood. He needed to be able to close his mouth and drink some water and reconstitute his lungs.

Amon was no longer looking at him though, instead looking to the man who had tied Esial to the pole. "Faheem, you have certainly done well here. I will need you to make certain there are tents for everyone. If you have run out, I brought more with me in my plane. You will just need to get Asim to drive you there and help load them into the car."

"Ah, yes! Very prepared, sayidi," Faheem said with a smile as Amon handed him a small wad of money that Esial did not recognize. "It will be done."

Amon nodded. "Good. I will take the other truck to hire more workers. You have done well in gathering men. I believe you found 20?"

"Na'am, sayidi. Men I have worked with for many many years in the archaeology. They are very well trained," Faheem said cheerfully.

"Good. That expertise will be very useful to me," Amon said with a friendly smile as he opened his parasol and turned. "I think we may require more workers for the less skilled tasks. We will have a lot of ground to cover, especially if my brother here does not help us as much as I hope he will."

Esial lolled his head back against the pole gently, sucking in another breath of dry air.

Amon glanced back at Esial and said, "If I am late in coming back, be sure to pull down the tarp to protect him from the sun."

"It will be done," Faheem said as the two began walking off, leaving Esial on his own.

Esial looked across the camp, dazed and feeling more and more distant from his body with every moment that passed. What he saw did not give him a good outlook for escape. Past the tents and people moving about here and there, setting everything up, there was only dessert. Dessert for miles and miles, endless sand and heatwaves.

He wouldn't make it.

.................................................................

Esial woke to someone nudging his leg and he jolted awake, feeling the pole behind him sway as he moved. He looked up, his neck muscles finding the strength to complain as he did so. Someone had let down some canvas as the sun set in front of him, keeping it off of him. The young man that crouched beside him watched him with intense interest.

"You are a blood drinker," the young man said eventually.

Esial stared at him, a little annoyed to have been woken up to have the obvious stated to him. Being awake was only slightly worse than being asleep, but when you were in Esial's position, 'slightly' was a godsend.

"You have fangs?"

Esial's head wobbled, but he managed a nod.

"And they are covered by the mask."

Esial nodded again.

The young man hummed, staring at him for even longer now. Esial's eyes began to droop shut when the young man spoke again. "You will not bite me. I am protected by al sayid."

Esial watched the young man, trying to figure out what he wanted, and was surprised when he reached out and grabbed the buckles of the mask, undoing them. It took the young man a moment to figure out how to release the mechanism that held his mouth open so wide, and when the young man moved to remove the device, it caught painfully on his fangs.

When it was all out, a weird tingling started up in the roof of his mouth where the metal had been pressed into where glands were supposed to be. His jaw trembled, as he attempted to close it, but gave an airy cry as the motion shot pain through his jaw.

The young man watched, staring at Esial's fangs with fascination. He looked quickly over his shoulder before he reached into his belt, grabbing a pair of pliers. Esial's stomach dropped, and he shook his head, trying with a renewed vigor to close his mouth, but there was nothing he could do as the young man grabbed him by the hair and put the pliers around his tooth.

"I just need one," the young man said eagerly. "Only one. You will have water as payment."

Esial braced himself, eyes screwed shut. He couldn't close his jaw. The muscles were too tense and blood drained. If he moved, he would lose his shelter and the sun would burn him. All he could hope was that Amon noticed he was missing a fang later and have enough pity on him to make him more comfortable.

The pliers slipped off his fang twice, but on the third time the young man got a good grip and ripped the tooth out. The cry that escaped Esial's throat was too dry and quiet to be heard past his little shelter. It didn't hurt as badly as he feared. It stung in his sinuses, but his mostly numb and dry mouth wasn't fully capable of passing on that pain to his brain. He was sure that having a simpler tooth structure and no glands made it less painful than for modern vampires.

The young man sat back on his heels, staring at the fang in awe. "Now I am a real man," he whispered. He reached into his belt and pulled out a canteen. Esial tilted his head back eagerly as the young man poured the water into his mouth. His tongue was so dry he couldn't really taste the water, and that was likely for the best, but the feeling of the water sliding down his throat was heaven. He was devastated when it ended. It felt as though the water had sunk into the topsoil of his flesh, only to evaporate the moment it ended. He supposed he couldn't complain.

The young man smiled. "I will leave this off, yes? As a promise you will not tell who did this."

That wasn't good. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't tell what had happened. Amon would surely notice, and the kindness of leaving the muzzle off would not be enough to keep this a secret.... though Esial did not know the young man's name. He could always claim to have been delirious and unable to identify the man who took his fang.

Working his jaw back and forth gently, Esial nodded and the young man grinned, saluting with the fang in hand before he scampered off, leaving the muzzle sitting in the dust beside Esial.

Part 16

From Dust to Ashes Taglist: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight 

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Maybe Matthew was overreacting. Isaiah could take care of himself. Better than any of them. He would not be happy that Matthew was doubting that.

Capable or not, Isaiah had been acting weird lately. Since that weird visit from the wolf that wouldn't even come upstairs, he had been absent from home more, packing more meetings in one day, making more calls. Like he was trying to prove something to himself.

It was just this one week, but Matthew wondered if someone shouldn't speak up about it.

And then this happened.

A sound from his tone got his attention. It was't a message, exactly, but it was from Isaiah. Sharing a location.

Matthew was out the door before he even registered where he was going.

A hole in the middle of freaking nowhere, that's where it was. A train stop at a small village, between the tracks and the field, under a hill. That was where he found him.

Isaiah was lying in the grass, like this was a field trip, long coat sprawled around him. He looked surprisingly calm for that position. Like part of vegetation.

Matthew let the car open, not hearing anyone close by to worry about, sprinting to his pack leader.

"Do they have no benches here? What happened?" he asked as he knelt down next to Isaiah with a frown. The black-haired wolf didn't seem injured, but he was pale in the setting sun.

"Ah, well. Got a little thrown out from the train."

"You did what now?" Matthew hovered his hands over him, but he couldn't smell any blood. Why wasn't Isaiah getting up then? He grabbed him by the shoulder, lifting him up carefully.

Isaiah made a sour face, but went with the movement, grinding his teeth together.

"What hurts?" Matthew said with a grunt, nervous he couldn't see the cause, when something was clearly wrong.

"I'm fine. Sorry you had to-"

"Don't give me that crap," Matthew scowled. "What are you doing so far away from the city anyway?"

"Met some troublemakers at the station...worried for what they would do on the train... that's Seline's train, you know-"

"She doesn't take that train anymore," Matthew said with an eye roll, hooking his arm under Isaiah's elbow to get him up.

"Still a bunch of wolves," Isaiah said, hissing as Matthew dragged him up to his feet. "Dangerous group on a trip."

"Great. And you just had to get involved."

Isaiah gave him a sly half-smile. "They are handled enough. Rolled down shadows, smashed faces."

That was when Matthew noticed Isaiah held his right hand carefully against his side, not moving it one bit. It looked limp and useless.

"What's up with your arm? Why is it not healing?"

Isaiah shook his head as if he didn't want to answer that. He made a step forward, swayed, all his weight immediately going on Matthew who threw his left arm around his shoulder.

"You don't have to do that with me," Matthew said quietly as he slowly led him towards the car. Isaiah tensed at weird moments, stopping and gasping before each step.

"Do what?" Isaiah said with a strained smile, lips held tightly together.

"Don't play tough. I'm not one of your little brothers. I can handle it."

Isaiah let out a shaky breath, looking away. If to hide his expression for the pain or another emotion, Matt wasn't sure.

"Hold on," Matthew said, freeing one hand so he could open the passenger door for Isaiah, sliding him in. The sun slowly set, basking the car and the station in bloody red hues.

Isaiah sat down obediently but kept his legs out of the car. He his head against his good palm. His right hand was still pressed to his side uselessly.

Matthew leaned against the door next to him, not sure how to proceed. "Your arm bothering you?" he asked quietly as if it was a secret. Isaiah could be really stubborn when it came to asking for help. How long did he lay there in the grass, not being able to get up on his own, before calling for him?

Isaiah's breathing picked up and he pitched more forward over his knees. Matthew couldn't help planting a hand on his back as if he could hold him in place against whatever he was struggling with.

Matthew was not a patient guy.

He had a short fuse, anger being a comforting emotion to him in its familiarity. While his temper was getting better, he felt a strong urge to shake his best friend to get some answers. Could this be related to his heart again? Was something wrong with his shadow? Was he just being an ass, scaring him?

The red wolf also hated that he couldn't figure out the right thing to say. Isaiah would certainly be able to say just the right thing. Something comforting and coaxing. He always managed to make Matthew voice his concerns and plights, even though Matthew was prideful about them as well.

But there was nothing to do against Isaiah's silence. Matthew felt like, from experience, more prodding would just add more walls, more protests, and more denial. Like with that heart issue that he never managed to convince Isaiah to take seriously.

So Matthew bit his lip, swallowed a growl and tried to be patient. His shadow, however, had different ideas. It sprung up, uninvited, blowing up on the ground around the car. Angry tentacles of shadow.

Isaiah lifted his head to look at him then, something tired and resigned on his face.

"You sure you can't even tell me their names?" Matthew said, pressing his fists together. "I want to kill them so bad for this."

Isaiah made a soft sound. Matthew looked down, realizing only by the expression it was a laugh.

"That's your biggest concern?" Isaiah sounded amused.

"Hey! Of course it is! What else would I-"

Isaiah suddenly pitched forward over his legs with a heave.

Matthew forgot his shadow and his anger that second, grabbing his left arm to steady him as a small gush of watery vomit sprayed from his lips.

"Okay, okay. Wasn't expecting that one," Matthew admitted, taking a fist of Isaiah's coat at his back to hold him upwards as he retched up more liquid. It wasn't much, just two more mouthfuls. Matthew understood now why he didn't want to get into the car. "Did you get concussed or something?"

Isaiah spat on the ground, wincing as he leaned back again. He dragged his left sleeve over his mouth, panting for breath. "No. Sorry. Hurts too much."

Matthew crouched down in front of him, ignoring the small puke puddle. "Can I see that arm now?"

Isaiah's eyebrows pulled together in a pained frown. "Broken. On many spots. It's taking time to heal." He gave Matthew another of those pained smiles, like he was trying to be okay with all his might, when he wasn't. "So many little bones to break in a hand."

Matthew got to his feet so he could put his hand on Isaiah's shoulder. It was still heaving with quick breaths. "Wanna go home to put some ice on it?" Hey, that was an idea of his own that could help. Finally.

Isaiah was quiet again, just panting for breath, looking down. Matthew's skin was crawling from how slow it was going. They could have been on the road a minute after he arrived, could have iced the hand and put Isaiah to bed instead of this awkward eternal little sundown show-

Isaiah suddenly leaned his head forward to press it against Matthew's stomach. His shoulders didn't quite relax, but they were a little less tense. One of his hands went up, hooking two fingers into Matthew's shirt.

Matthew sighed, putting a hand on Isaiah's nape. It was sweaty and over warm, pieces of grass stuck to the collar.

"Can't move my right arm," Isaiah said quietly. That was the most pained his voice sounded until now.

Matthew waited, afraid to move.

"Still- still feel really sick."

Matthew tightened his grip on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I- I'm going to cause a lot more trouble for you."

Matthew rolled his eyes. Jesus Christ, he so didn't care about that. He rubbed his thump up and down Isaiah's neck, a little stunned how vulnerable the position was. How much Isaiah just gave himself over to him.

He wanted to say something sensitive, but he so didn't know what. That it was okay? That it didn't matter to him?

"Hey, Zaya?"

Isaiah took a shuddering breath. "Yeah?" Like he was bracing himself for bad news.

"Take me with you next time."