Shared
Summary: Jasdero wonders which of his and Devit's injuries will scar, and who will bear the scars.
Prompt: 044. Scars
Disclaimer: D. Gray-man series and characters do not belong to me.
Jasdero coughed and rubbed at his neck. A scrape on the side of his neck was seeping blood, so he took a clean white cloth from the counter before him and patted at it. Deep bruises surrounded the scrape. He touched it only lightly.
Beside him, Devit examined his right arm. Jasdero had wrapped clean white bandages firmly around it-white bandages that now had a line of bloodstains from the gash in Devit’s arm. But it was better than his left arm. His left arm, broken but now set, was immobilized in a sling. Jasdero shuddered to remember the bad men in white snapping Devit’s arm, and he peered into the mirror and felt at his bruised neck, trying not to remember.
Jasdero had been half-strangled. He no longer felt like he was about to choke with every breath, but his throat still hurt. His wounds had not healed yet, and neither had Devit’s. But they would.
Devit flexed his fingers. Jasdero saw Devit’s frown in the mirror. “I wonder how long this will take to heal,” he said.
Jasdero still felt like he couldn’t breathe quite right. It hurt for him to talk, and his voice came out hoarse and low when he tried. He nodded. That hurt his neck too. Jasdero looked at the cloth, which was spotted with his blood.
The cloth wasn’t his. It belonged to the Noah Clan, which had found them. Not before the bad men in white who’d broken Devit’s arm and tried to kill Jasdero, but they were home now. Alive and at home.
The people who said they were Jasdero and Devit’s family had given them a room with two beds of polished wood, a dresser with a mirror, a patterned rug, windows with real glass, and wallpaper on the walls. It was a wide room too, maybe as big as the house in the village. A lot of the rooms in Noah’s house had been even bigger.
But Jasdero and Devit were too exhausted to explore the big house, or do more than rifle through the top dresser drawers. (Rich people’s clothes in different sizes, smelling freshly washed.) Noah’s servants, bearing stars on their foreheads, had led them here after one of Noah’s family had set Devit’s arm. They had wanted to dress all of Jasdero and Devit’s wounds, but Devit didn’t want them to. Jasdero also thought maybe it was smarter not to trust these people, even though he did-he did and he didn’t know why. Jasdero had cleaned and bandaged Devit’s right arm after the Noah man had shown him how to clean it. The cut was really bad. Jasdero was very careful to bandage it properly and securely. Devit didn’t cry out once, he just kept that stubborn expression on his face.
Jasdero had never set a broken bone before, although he had broken someone’s wrist in a fight once. He thought it would be a bad idea to try now, because he might mess it up. Especially because he was shaking and exhausted himself. So he and Devit let the Noah man do it. There was medicine for the pain, and Devit went to sleep for awhile on the cot they’d set him in. Jasdero couldn’t keep sleep away, and he crawled onto the end of the bed and was gone beyond dreams. He wasn’t sure how long they slept, but when they woke up a soft blanket covered Jasdero, and Devit’s broken arm was bound and in a sling.
The servants had asked if Jasdero and Devit wanted to go to their own room. Yes, they did, and down a hall of lanterns they went to a room of their very own.
Overwhelmed by its luxury, they had stood in the doorway a long time, blinking in tired awe at the beds and curtains and rug. Candles on the oak dresser lit the room. Not a bright illumination, but warm. They had caught sight of themselves in the unblemished mirror above the dresser: bruised and haggard, dark circles under their eyes. But it was nothing new, nothing they hadn’t already seen looking at each other. Devit told Jasdero his neck was bleeding and he should clean it. He should be more careful not to break open the wound.
Now they stood before the mirror, looking at themselves in reflection. Jasdero measured out a length of bandage with cold fingers.
Devit ran a finger down the side of the clear mirror, leaving a smear on its previously unmarred surface. His cut has probably stopped bleeding now and will scab, thought Jasdero hopefully. He wondered if it would scar. If the cut left a scar on Devit’s arm, would Jasdero’s arm scar too? Jasdero’s arm stung where Devit’s had been cut, felt numb where Devit’s had been broken. The bruises they already shared.
Jasdero cut a length of gauze and tilted his chin up. He wrapped the bandages to cover the bleeding scrape. Not so tight that he’d have to press against his bruises, and not so loose that it would fall off. There.
Devit looked away to the side, and he rubbed at his own neck in sympathy.
Jasdero cleared his throat. “Bandaged it,” he said hoarsely. He held up the end of a roll of bandages. “More?”
Devit shook his head. “That’s all,” he said. The rest of their cuts were minor. Jasdero shoved the bandages away. He blew out the candles one by one. In the dark he crawled into his bed, soft and welcoming, and Devit settled into the bed across from it, not too far away. Devit lay face-up with his broken arm resting on his chest. “Goodnight,” said Devit quietly.
But Jasdero couldn’t fall asleep. He was so tired, but he couldn’t fall asleep. His forehead prickled. He rubbed at the marks. The marks weren’t scars. They had bled, but he and Devit had never been cut on the forehead, and they had not scabbed over. The marks had come to Jasdero and Devit bringing visions of the end of the world. (And Jasdero had felt Devit’s pain and visions the same as he’d felt his own. They had been connected from the very beginning, but during the change the connection had deepened and strengthened until Jasdero could feel more than just Devit’s mind.) The marks had remained as proof that they’d seen those things, thought Jasdero.
Probably the scrape on Jasdero’s neck would leave no mark. It was a light wound. The cut on Devit’s arm might scar, or it might not, now that they were powerful. But the marks on their foreheads would never go away, not really.
The other people in Noah’s family had carried the marks too. The visions had possessed them too, once. Jasdero, Devit, all the rest of Noah’s family-they all shared the marks.
Jasdero’s head didn’t ache anymore, like it had with the visions and the bleeding. Now his body hurt from the bruises, a mundane ache unlike the pain of the visions. His arms ached deep in the bone. From the bed, Jasdero reached up and scrabbled through the items on the dresser after the bandages. He found the end of the roll of bandages and sat up to pull it over to him without making too much noise.
Jasdero pulled the sheets down to his stomach and lay in bed wrapping bandages around his arms, first the left one, around and around until he'd covered it from his fingers to his elbow. He struggled to tear off the bandage, tugging and biting at the thin cloth, but eventually he reached up for the scissors. Snip the cloth was cut, and he wrapped his right arm to match the left. He set the scissors and bandages back on the dresser, very quietly. Now he could pull the covers over his head and go to sleep.
Asleep in the comforting dark, he dreamed of light.
It was noon the next day, warm with sunlight streaming through the window, when Jasdero tumbled out of bed in a tangle of sheets. He thrashed around, trying to extricate himself and trying to remember where he was. He stood unsteadily from a nest of bedding.
Devit was sitting up in his bed by the window, blinking in the brightness. “Where is this?” He was sullen from his wounds.
“It’s here!” said Jasdero, kicking free of the sheets. His voice didn’t hurt so much today.
“Yeah, I remember…” Devit rubbed his temples with his better hand. The light caught the faint contours of the crosses on his forehead, the same marks as Jasdero’s. Around Devit’s neck were bandages.
Devit took his hand from his forehead, glanced at the bandages all around Jasdero’s arms. He slid from bed.
“My arm had better mend soon,” he said, nodding towards his arm in the sling.
If Jasdero’s arm was fine, then maybe from a certain view Devit’s arm was fine too. And if Devit’s arm was hurt, so was his. If his neck was hurt, so was Devit’s. Jasdero wondered which wounds would leave scars.
“We’re healing,” he said.
Prompt: 044. Scars
Disclaimer: D. Gray-man series and characters do not belong to me.
Jasdero coughed and rubbed at his neck. A scrape on the side of his neck was seeping blood, so he took a clean white cloth from the counter before him and patted at it. Deep bruises surrounded the scrape. He touched it only lightly.
Beside him, Devit examined his right arm. Jasdero had wrapped clean white bandages firmly around it-white bandages that now had a line of bloodstains from the gash in Devit’s arm. But it was better than his left arm. His left arm, broken but now set, was immobilized in a sling. Jasdero shuddered to remember the bad men in white snapping Devit’s arm, and he peered into the mirror and felt at his bruised neck, trying not to remember.
Jasdero had been half-strangled. He no longer felt like he was about to choke with every breath, but his throat still hurt. His wounds had not healed yet, and neither had Devit’s. But they would.
Devit flexed his fingers. Jasdero saw Devit’s frown in the mirror. “I wonder how long this will take to heal,” he said.
Jasdero still felt like he couldn’t breathe quite right. It hurt for him to talk, and his voice came out hoarse and low when he tried. He nodded. That hurt his neck too. Jasdero looked at the cloth, which was spotted with his blood.
The cloth wasn’t his. It belonged to the Noah Clan, which had found them. Not before the bad men in white who’d broken Devit’s arm and tried to kill Jasdero, but they were home now. Alive and at home.
The people who said they were Jasdero and Devit’s family had given them a room with two beds of polished wood, a dresser with a mirror, a patterned rug, windows with real glass, and wallpaper on the walls. It was a wide room too, maybe as big as the house in the village. A lot of the rooms in Noah’s house had been even bigger.
But Jasdero and Devit were too exhausted to explore the big house, or do more than rifle through the top dresser drawers. (Rich people’s clothes in different sizes, smelling freshly washed.) Noah’s servants, bearing stars on their foreheads, had led them here after one of Noah’s family had set Devit’s arm. They had wanted to dress all of Jasdero and Devit’s wounds, but Devit didn’t want them to. Jasdero also thought maybe it was smarter not to trust these people, even though he did-he did and he didn’t know why. Jasdero had cleaned and bandaged Devit’s right arm after the Noah man had shown him how to clean it. The cut was really bad. Jasdero was very careful to bandage it properly and securely. Devit didn’t cry out once, he just kept that stubborn expression on his face.
Jasdero had never set a broken bone before, although he had broken someone’s wrist in a fight once. He thought it would be a bad idea to try now, because he might mess it up. Especially because he was shaking and exhausted himself. So he and Devit let the Noah man do it. There was medicine for the pain, and Devit went to sleep for awhile on the cot they’d set him in. Jasdero couldn’t keep sleep away, and he crawled onto the end of the bed and was gone beyond dreams. He wasn’t sure how long they slept, but when they woke up a soft blanket covered Jasdero, and Devit’s broken arm was bound and in a sling.
The servants had asked if Jasdero and Devit wanted to go to their own room. Yes, they did, and down a hall of lanterns they went to a room of their very own.
Overwhelmed by its luxury, they had stood in the doorway a long time, blinking in tired awe at the beds and curtains and rug. Candles on the oak dresser lit the room. Not a bright illumination, but warm. They had caught sight of themselves in the unblemished mirror above the dresser: bruised and haggard, dark circles under their eyes. But it was nothing new, nothing they hadn’t already seen looking at each other. Devit told Jasdero his neck was bleeding and he should clean it. He should be more careful not to break open the wound.
Now they stood before the mirror, looking at themselves in reflection. Jasdero measured out a length of bandage with cold fingers.
Devit ran a finger down the side of the clear mirror, leaving a smear on its previously unmarred surface. His cut has probably stopped bleeding now and will scab, thought Jasdero hopefully. He wondered if it would scar. If the cut left a scar on Devit’s arm, would Jasdero’s arm scar too? Jasdero’s arm stung where Devit’s had been cut, felt numb where Devit’s had been broken. The bruises they already shared.
Jasdero cut a length of gauze and tilted his chin up. He wrapped the bandages to cover the bleeding scrape. Not so tight that he’d have to press against his bruises, and not so loose that it would fall off. There.
Devit looked away to the side, and he rubbed at his own neck in sympathy.
Jasdero cleared his throat. “Bandaged it,” he said hoarsely. He held up the end of a roll of bandages. “More?”
Devit shook his head. “That’s all,” he said. The rest of their cuts were minor. Jasdero shoved the bandages away. He blew out the candles one by one. In the dark he crawled into his bed, soft and welcoming, and Devit settled into the bed across from it, not too far away. Devit lay face-up with his broken arm resting on his chest. “Goodnight,” said Devit quietly.
But Jasdero couldn’t fall asleep. He was so tired, but he couldn’t fall asleep. His forehead prickled. He rubbed at the marks. The marks weren’t scars. They had bled, but he and Devit had never been cut on the forehead, and they had not scabbed over. The marks had come to Jasdero and Devit bringing visions of the end of the world. (And Jasdero had felt Devit’s pain and visions the same as he’d felt his own. They had been connected from the very beginning, but during the change the connection had deepened and strengthened until Jasdero could feel more than just Devit’s mind.) The marks had remained as proof that they’d seen those things, thought Jasdero.
Probably the scrape on Jasdero’s neck would leave no mark. It was a light wound. The cut on Devit’s arm might scar, or it might not, now that they were powerful. But the marks on their foreheads would never go away, not really.
The other people in Noah’s family had carried the marks too. The visions had possessed them too, once. Jasdero, Devit, all the rest of Noah’s family-they all shared the marks.
Jasdero’s head didn’t ache anymore, like it had with the visions and the bleeding. Now his body hurt from the bruises, a mundane ache unlike the pain of the visions. His arms ached deep in the bone. From the bed, Jasdero reached up and scrabbled through the items on the dresser after the bandages. He found the end of the roll of bandages and sat up to pull it over to him without making too much noise.
Jasdero pulled the sheets down to his stomach and lay in bed wrapping bandages around his arms, first the left one, around and around until he'd covered it from his fingers to his elbow. He struggled to tear off the bandage, tugging and biting at the thin cloth, but eventually he reached up for the scissors. Snip the cloth was cut, and he wrapped his right arm to match the left. He set the scissors and bandages back on the dresser, very quietly. Now he could pull the covers over his head and go to sleep.
Asleep in the comforting dark, he dreamed of light.
It was noon the next day, warm with sunlight streaming through the window, when Jasdero tumbled out of bed in a tangle of sheets. He thrashed around, trying to extricate himself and trying to remember where he was. He stood unsteadily from a nest of bedding.
Devit was sitting up in his bed by the window, blinking in the brightness. “Where is this?” He was sullen from his wounds.
“It’s here!” said Jasdero, kicking free of the sheets. His voice didn’t hurt so much today.
“Yeah, I remember…” Devit rubbed his temples with his better hand. The light caught the faint contours of the crosses on his forehead, the same marks as Jasdero’s. Around Devit’s neck were bandages.
Devit took his hand from his forehead, glanced at the bandages all around Jasdero’s arms. He slid from bed.
“My arm had better mend soon,” he said, nodding towards his arm in the sling.
If Jasdero’s arm was fine, then maybe from a certain view Devit’s arm was fine too. And if Devit’s arm was hurt, so was his. If his neck was hurt, so was Devit’s. Jasdero wondered which wounds would leave scars.
“We’re healing,” he said.