Stitch #51 -- OH SHI---

[anti_buttons]

[ACCIDENTAL VOICE POST - DON'T ASK HOW IT JUST HAPPENED OKAY LOVE IT]

"Kurosaki, I don't mean to understate this, but I'm convinced a rabies-infected baboon hold those eggs with more care."

"SHUT UP. Just because I'm not a fucking FAIRY."

"Hurry up. I don't want to miss the train because you're bickering."

"There's no point if we just have to

Comments

[Action Post]

[anti_buttons]

[ Lucky they hadn't been in the train. He might have been walking swiftly ahead, had he not been hanging left and back of Ichigo, nit-picking about the damn eggs. (No hope for them now). He felt it before he heard it, properly, and as the intensity of the abrupt explosion rushed at him, he flung his arms, uselessly up (groceries came with!), in the midst of an incomplete step back. It might have been that movement, but he hit the wall at an angle, his arm taking the brunt before his skull could. He fell to the ground hard, unable to break his fall through the fire. And Ishida felt his ankle snap as he was flung to the ground, and he remained still for a moment as his mind caught up with the wreck.

The pain was so thorough that he could smell his burnt skin before he could feel it. His glasses were long-gone, though he felt some remnant of an arm clinging in his hair. His arms were charred; he squinted at the near-black flesh and tried not to think of it, tried to stand, first, because there were people in that train and Doumeki, and Kurosaki, and -- shit. His ankle buckled, and Ishida wasn't aware of the warmth of the liquid trickling from the wound in his abdomen, where some shrapnel from the train must have lodged. But it hurt.

He knew it hurt. Squinting, teeth grit, struggling with the pain as he had before, Ishida focused enough to whip the reishi around him into motion, to support his ankle (snapcrackgrinding), and allow him to stumble]

[Cough, hack, etc, cough] DOUMEKI--? KUROSAKI?

[Action Post]

[monsterepellant]

*Consciousness sucked. Especially when all you could feel was a seering pain in every fucking fiber of your body. Doumeki groaned, quietly, fingers twitching, trying to push himself up, feeling the blood trickling down over his neck. He bit down, hard, on the inside of his lip, at least trying to lift his head--but everything was too fuzzy. It almost felt like the time he was in Autor's body and couldn't see a damn thing without glasses. Except for that pain everywhere. Minor detail.*

[Action Post]

[strawberried]

[ Ichigo had to agree. consciousness really fucking sucked. when he first came to, he almost felt as if nothing had happened at all-- then the pain. and it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad. and Ichigo had experienced a lot of pain in his sixteen years, but this had to be the first time he'd been blown up. the skin of his hands, arms, chest felt like it was on fire, though he knew it actually felt like after the fire, and the blood-- that was a familiar sensation. it trickled warmly down the back of his head, down the side of his face, from something lodged in his shoulder, from cuts across his body. he even tasted it, metallic and thick. shit.

he heard Ishida call his name-- he sounded very close, though Ichigo could barely make out his outline in the thick dust and smoke. when he opened his mouth, nothing came out except a soft groan, his tongue and teeth seeming to stick together with the mixture of blood and smoke. he tried again. ]

'shi--sh'da.

[Action Post]

[anti_buttons]

[ It wasn't a quiet aftermath. The skeletal remnants of the train smoked, metal crying as it caved and imploded and scant survivors clawed through the wreckage. There were screams, shouting fire, smoke exhaling and sucking through the tunnel, filling his longs as his arms felt as if they kept burning, and his abdomen clenched around the metal, and he wanted to scream with every step from his ankle, and -- so forth. Doumkei's groan went almost unheard, with the rest of the chaos, but ]

Kurosaki?

[ He hadn't yelled much, but already he felt hoarse, as if he'd swallowed ash. The syllables of his name caught, through the chaos of what sounded overdramatically like the end of the world. Spirit threads a'pullin', Ishida made his way toward the orange that wasn't fire]

Kurosaki.

[Shit. Squinting, squinting, and he hoped he didn't look that bad even in focus.]

Can you move?

[Action Post]

[monsterepellant]

*there was just...too much. Pain pulled at his every last reserve and with another quiet groan, he sank back into darkness*

[Action Post]

[strawberried]

[ Ishida-- well, at least it was someone. Ichigo could see him a little more clearly now, but for some reason, his mouth just wouldn't unstick. there must be something piercing his lungs, if he was tasting this much blood. another groan emerged from him, and he winced, if only because it was so damn embarrassing. he tried to move, to salvage what was left of his pride, his limbs and extremities seeming to creak into motion far, far too long after he'd told them to. his head hurt like a fucking bitch. his arm was definitely broken. there was definitely something large and metallic in his shoulder. and there was definitely something in his chest, sharp and stinging.

slowly, slowly, he slid up the wall, gathering his feet under him and almost sighing in relief to be able to put most of his weight on them. sufficiently standing, he looked around for Ishida again-- he looked like shit, his glasses missing, his hair matted to the side of his head, part of his face singed, a huge fucking hole in the middle of his stomach. Ichigo hoped he didn't look much worse off. ]

Y-Yeah. Wh--'meki?

[Action Post]

[anti_buttons]

[ It was amazing that Ishida wasn't simply screaming, that he had yet to black out from the pain rushing at him from every corner, every cell and fiber. He couldn't see, it was amazing that he had found Kurosaki and not walked into a patch of isolated flame, but instinctively he reached out a burnt arm to brace one of Ichigo's, to grasp one and offer some shred of support should he need it.

Balancing more on the one foot than the other, because even with the threads, it hurt -- Ishida swallowed, dry smokey air, not enough spit, and his voice cracked with concern]

I--I'm not sure, can't see, I can't --

[Who knew where he could have been blown? Not being able to see, that make it that much more of a nightmare.]

[Action Post]

[strawberried]

[ shit, no matter how much this happened to him, he could never get used to the pain. it didn't even lessen. at least now he could recognize which parts of himself not to move or put too much pressure on. he tried to shrug off Ishida's supporting hand, but apparently that was last on his body's list of priorities.

fuck. Ichigo coughed, finally, blood mixing with saliva mixing with dust and ash. that was a little better. ]

We'll find 'im. [ he ground out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before it twisted into a scowl. ]

[Action Post]

[anti_buttons]

[ Ishida certainly was injured less than Ichigo in the grand scale of things, and so he has less of a thresheld for pain, only that he's tried to perfect a technique that involves working a broken body and that doesn't equate to good health -- blindly, he tried to help, and blindly, his teeth gritting hard enough that he would have given himself a headache had he one iota left for pain, or discomfort, he retracted his hand, able to tell that Ichigo had righted himself.

he hoped doumeki hadn't been blown too far, hoped -- no, not time for hope, only action, only ignoring the blood bubbling in his throat from the metal in his gut, and trying not to cough at the smoke. ]

Yeah.

[ as if it were a certainty, when he could heard nothing but fire and the train crumpling, faint cries, no low groan. when he could see nothing, but he strove for a familiar splotch of color, a vaguely humanoid shape. ]