Lux in Tenebris - Chapter 11 Outtake
I mentioned in the notes in the posted version of Chapter 11 on AO3 that I had originally written ‘Good Reasons for Stocking Up on Duct Tape’ from Yuuri’s perspective.
Then I got stuck for about three weeks...and decided to write a different version. I thought about posting it on AO3 as a part of False Things Brought Low, but seeing as this took place during the happenings of ‘Lux in Tenebris’, I felt it would be somewhat out of place with the overarching ‘theme’.
Please note: there are mentions of blood and a brief depiction of an anxiety reaction.
April 2019; San Francisco
It’s a miracle that his hands don’t shake while he peels Victor’s shirt up and away from the punctures that are bleeding with alarming steadiness. There’s absolute certainty that that demon hit something important with its foot-long claws.
“’M I gonna die, Yuuri?” Victor asked. Consecutive gun fire and vicious shrieks of rage fill in the gaps between the cracks of calm gilding his panic.
“No,” he replies with more confidence than he realistically feels, “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you.” he sits back, prepares to roll Victor over so he can patch the entry wounds first. Victor’s blood is quickly going stagnant, growing dark as it cools. You’re not going to die, he thinks, I won’t let you. No one dies today. No more.
“Good,” Victor slurs, “Can’ take you on that date if ‘m dead.”
Yuuri chances a look at his face, sees Victor’s eyes are already closed. Shit.
“Victor stay with me,” he prompts. His fingers move on autopilot, weaving blue thread to pull torn flesh closed and keep all that red inside where it belongs. Not fast enough, a little voice urges him, Hurry hurry hurry hurry- “You can’t fall asleep okay?”
Victor doesn’t respond, and his breathing is starting to slow.
“No no no no,” Yuuri muttered, and gets his hands under Victor, rolling him as gently as he can onto his side to reach the entry wounds. He flinches when a particularly loud shriek breaks his focus, his fingers pausing when there’s a flash of white hot and a gross splat inches from where he’s kneeling. He doesn’t turn to look, keeping his attention on pulling the Stitch Wards tight. There’s still too much blood and it’s starting to soak into the knees of his trousers. There’s no way that the clean-up crew will be able to erase the blood pool by conventional means now. Marble is porous, and the champagne will always have at least a pink tint to it in this spot.
“How is he?” Georgi asked, dropping to his knees beside Yuuri.
Yuuri carefully rolls Victor onto his back again, “Tachypneic and non-responsive. I tried to keep him talking.”
Georgi picks up Victor’s wrist, fingers pressed to his pulse point, “His blood pressure’s dropping. He’s going into hypovolemic shock. We need to get him to a hospital now.”
“There’s no guarantee they’ll have his blood type,” Yuuri said, panic threatening to rise into the back of his throat.
“There is if we take him to HQ,” Georgi said, keeping a hand on Victor’s neck with his other hand on Victor’s chest.
Yuuri doesn’t waste time coaxing a Portal into existence, instead he hastily traces a door in the air with a very clear view of the EBHQ Med-Ward on the other side. The triage nurse spies the opening in the middle of the waiting room and pages for help when they come barreling through. Yuuri can feel Victor’s blood starting to soak through his shirt where his injured side was pressed up against him. Droplets of red hit the emergency room floor and then there’s a team of Agency medics pulling him up onto a bed and wheeling him away.
“I need four units of Mag-O9, stat!” yelled the Mance witch who’d taken over keeping him stable.
He stared after them long after they vanished into the trauma bay, thinking about how Victor’s lips had turned white and he’d looked so pale.
“Yuuri.” He gave a start at the sound of his name, and from the looks of it, Mila had been calling him for a while. Her brow is creased with concern and she’s got a hand on his arm, “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” he lied through chattering teeth, “I’ll be okay.”
Victor might be dead. Victor might be dead because I was too slow. I should’ve gotten to him sooner. I’m a failure. I’m too weak. You never should’ve hired me.
“It’s fine if you’re not,” Mila said, and she looked a little shaken herself, “Victor will be okay. He’s survived worse. Breathe.”
His chest hurts and he can’t feel his face. Somewhere in the back of his brain he can’t believe he’s having a fucking panic attack right now, while the rest of him has a meltdown for the next five minutes.
“You’re alright. You did wonderfully,” Mila coaxes gently, “He’s going to be fine I promise.”
Disgust and anger broil in with his anxiety to make an ugly miasma and dear gods he just wants to breathe.
Eventually, his chest loosens, and his legs feel like they’re made of wet clay. Mila steadies him when he wobbles a bit and guides him into an empty chair. Yuuri notices that the Portal he opened has closed and there’s a rumpled looking man with his hands locked in Suppression cuffs behind his back standing off to the side. His mismatched eyes are glassy, a significant bruise is blooming across his cheek, and there’s deep shadows under his eyes that contrast heavily with the pallor to his skin. He starts like a skittish deer when he makes eye contact with Yuuri and lets his head sag on his shoulders.
“Don’t worry about him,” Mila said, “He’s harmless now.”
Chevalier just looks pathetically resigned to his fate, and Yuuri – gods help him – feels a bit of pity for the man.
It’s because of him that they’re in this mess and Yuuri quietly hopes that this man is locked away for a very long time.
“We have to go get him booked and file an injury report. Um, you wouldn’t mind staying, would you? I really don’t want to leave you here by yourself, but-“ Mila continues.
“I’ll stay,” Yuuri says quickly, “Really, it’s no trouble. It’s the least I can do.” Mila frowns at that but she doesn’t comment.
“Come on, Georgi,” she said, “We have news to deliver.” she grabs Chevalier’s arm and guides him to the exit that leads out into the Agency’s main lobby.
Yuuri rests his forehead in his hand. There are other patients in the lobby waiting to be seen – an Exorcist cradling her horribly swollen left arm that’s starting to turn an alarming shade of purple, a scruffy looking man with a disturbing growth on his leg, and another Exorcist with what looks like a pencil stuck in his shoulder (Yuuri’s almost curious enough to ask).
Ten minutes go by, and then another ten. And then another. No one comes out to the waiting room to deliver Victor’s prognosis or – Heaven forbid – say ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. Logically Yuuri knows that things like this take time and who knows how long Victor would be on the table. But he can’t stop imagining getting the worst news. And the longer he waited, the more he was convinced that the likelihood of Victor making it was dropping like a stone.
Please let him live. Please please please…
He nearly bites through the inner lining of his cheek. His leg begins to bounce, and he wants so badly to get as far away from the EBHQ Medical Ward as possible. But the tiniest bit of hope and the crusting blood underneath his fingernails keeps him planted in the chair all night.