Merry Whump Of May - Day 6

Carnivàle S02E05

I’m dead. The sounds he makes. I am dead.

Mediwhump May - Day 4

"Pain"

(Dark Shadows 1966)

@mediwhumpmay

As soon as Willie woke up, he regretted it.

Every inch of him ached. Stiff and sore. Lying down hurt. Getting up hurt. Might as well get up.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaning. His head began to throb. Dawn was just beginning to peek into the room, illuminating the dust and the rot. 

Willie looked back to his pillow. A dark red and brown stain lay there. His nose must have bled in the night. He touched his swollen and tender cheek. 

The flash of a wolf’s head cane and sharp words.

Willie left the bed and padded over to the mirror on the wall. 

He thought about things so far. He thought about the distant past that was a few weeks ago. Before he’d come to Colinsport. Before all of this. Before him. 

And nothing had really changed. 

And that struck a hollow, empty chord within him.

Willie remembered getting into scraps as a kid. Scraped knees. Busted lip. Talking big only to get hit again. He’d always been covered in scabs and bruises. 

When he became an adult, it was the same. The scraps were bigger. Brawls. He just talked bigger and bigger. 

The hits got harder.

But he learned how to hit too. And he gave as much as he got.

Willie thought and thought and tried to remember a single moment of this life where he hadn’t been bruised. Or bloody. Or in pain.

He drew level with the mirror, realizing he couldn’t remember. 

This was just how it was. 

His reflection stared back at him in the dim and cold morning light. 

A pattern of cane-bruises marched over his face, dark and thunderous.

Willie’s tongue found a tooth, loosened by the blows to his face. He wiggled it. Opened his mouth. Stuck his fingers in. And ripped the tooth out.

Blood covered his fingers and blotted his lips. He slipped the tooth into his pocket.

Willie smiled at himself, bloody and gap-toothed. 

At least his outside now matched his inside.

MedWhump May - Day 2

Running out of time

Fandom - The Man from UNCLE (2015)

@medwhumpmay

Solo let out a soft: “Oh.”

Illya turned.

For one weightless moment, he saw Solo listing to the side. Head drooping. A flash of eyes, whites, rolled backwards. Illya caught him. He helped lower Solo to the floor while Solo apologized over and over.

He shouldered out of his jacket and folded it. “Here.” He murmured. He reached down and placed his hand under Solo’s head. “For your head.”

Solo lifted his head and let Illya place his jacket under it.

“Thanks.” Solo said. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” Illya settled beside Solo. He gently pulled back Solo’s shirt. Blood. A lot of blood. He found the wound on Solo’s side.

Solo hissed in pain. “It’s fine. Don’t-” Solo gasped and jumped as Illya pressed his handkerchief to the weeping wound.

“How long have you had this?” Illya looked away from the wound and leaned over Solo, looking into his eyes. Solo was still sweating from running earlier.

Solo averted his gaze, looking up at the ceiling instead. He smiled, but the lines of pain in his face told a different story. “Not sure.”

Keeping one hand on the wound, Illya placed his other hand on Solo’s cheek. “Solo.”

Solo still didn’t meet his eyes.

Illya stroked Solo’s cheek with his thumb. “Solo.” Illya repeated.

Finally, Solo met his gaze.

“This is a bad wound.” Illya stated, his fingers becoming wet as blood seeped through the handkerchief already.

“It’s not.” Solo panted softly. “It’s not.”

“You should not have hidden it. You just had surgery-”

“We were busy!” Solo ground out. He was paler than before.

“You are taking blood thinners!”

“I was covering you!”

Illya sighed. He got up. “I’m going to see if there’s any medical supplies.” He took Solo's hand and placed it over the wound to keep pressure on it.

Illya didn’t find much, a few band-aids, expired aspirin, and an ancient thermometer. He found some old bedsheets however and carried them back to Solo’s side.

When he returned, Solo was a few shades paler, sweat beading on his forehead. Illya held his hand to Solo’s cheek again.

“You’re cold.”

“No, I’m good. I’m good. I just need a minute to rest.” Solo murmured. His hand had fallen away from his side, no longer putting pressure. There was a small pool of blood on the floor beneath him.

Illya began to rip the bedsheets and press them to the wound. Illya piled more makeshift bandages on top. He looked back at Solo's face. His head was sagging to the side. His eyes were half closed.

“You are running out of time. As soon as you’re out, I’m picking you up and we’re going.”

Solo was deathly white. “M’fine.” He sighed.

Illya bandaged the leaking wound as best as he could with the bedsheets. He tied it as tight as he dared around Solo’s ribs.

“We are getting out of here now.”

No answer.

“Solo?” Illya looked up from his work.

Napoleon’s eyes were closed and he lay very still.

“Napoleon?” Illya reached up and pressed two fingers to the pulse point on Solo’s neck. His heart rate was quick. Much too quick.

Illya grabbed Solo and pulled him into his arms. “We’re going.”

Solo said nothing, limp and clammy against Illya’s body.

—Why is his pain so slutty?

Merry Whump of May - Day 7

“Write what you know.”

Box

Magic

Cell

(BBC Merlin)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“If- no, when, we get out of here, I’m going to write a book about what an idiot you are.”

Merlin sighed and rested his head against the wooden bars. “Well, write what you know, I suppose.”

“How could you think stopping to ask for directions could ever be a good idea? I knew where we were going.”

“We were lost and they looked friendly enough.” Merlin turned away from the bars and looked down at Arthur. “Look, how long are you going to complain? Maybe we should try figuring out how to get out here?”

“You figure out how to get us out.” Arthur drawled from his spot on the floor. He was lounging on the one and only pile of damp hay in the cell. The bruises from the attack were still fresh and swollen across his cheek and eye. “I’ll continue to complain, thank you very much.”

Merlin gently rubbed the bump on the back of his head. He looked around the cell for what felt like the hundredth time. They had been taken to a sort of cave lair, a wooden holding cell built into the rock wall. It was sturdy. And they had a guard at all times. 

Merlin licked his dry lips. 

He couldn’t use magic. Arthur was here. 

They were stuck, for now. 

Why had they been captured anyway? Maybe they planned to ransom the prince? Merlin puzzled over it until his head began to throb again. He sat down and closed his eyes. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up.”

“I haven’t.” Merlin murmured and leaned his forehead against the lattice of wooden bars. “I’m thinking.”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Merlin frowned and made himself bite back several rude remarks. 

It was at that moment that a few more bandits, or whatever they were, appeared in the chamber and opened the cell door.

“Oh thank goodness, you’ve come to your senses-” Arthur got up from the floor.

“Stay where you are.” The woman who had opened the door, green eyes blazing in the torchlight, pointed at Arthur.

Then she pointed to Merlin. “You. Come.”

“Me?” Merlin swallowed hard.

“Now.” She ordered.

Arthur took a step forward. “Look, he’s just a servant-”

Another of the bandits pointed a crossbow at Prince Arthur through the cell bars.

Arthur stopped, hands raised. 

Merlin picked himself off the rough stone floor. His head throbbed. The woman then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the cell. Merlin threw one last look at Arthur before he disappeared around the corner, deeper into the cave tunnel.

Merlin was taken to a smaller, darker chamber. The walls were wet and moss was growing there. He was forced onto a chair in the middle of the room. 

“My name is Deryn.” The green-eyed woman spoke while the others tied Merlin to the chair. “That’s all you need to know about me. As for my companions, ignore them. You will speak only to me; whether answering my questions or begging for mercy. Do you understand?”

Merlin swallowed hard. The ropes binding him to the chair were rough and were painfully tight. His heart was racing. What did they want with him?

“Do you understand?” Deryn repeated.

“Yes.” Merlin rasped. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

“Good.”

One of the bandits handed a large, flat wooden box to Deryn. The wood was dark and cracked with age and carved with strange symbols. Merlin tried to make them out in the flickering torchlight. But they swam and danced before his eyes. 

Deryn walked forward and set the box on Merlin’s lap.

“Here.” She said, “Hold this for me.”

Merlin, arms bound behind him, could not help but watch as she lifted the lid off, wood scraping, and revealed an enormous, golden collar. It was wide and flat, resembling a darkly glimmering crescent moon. There were fastenings at the two tips. It was old. Very old. Merlin could sense it. 

Merlin licked his dry lips and looked back up at Deryn. “What do you want, Deryn?” He asked. 

She did not answer.

Deryn picked up the collar by the two ends, leaned forward, and fastened it around Merlin’s neck. It was heavy and cold against his skin. Deryn set the box aside. 

“This is a very ancient treasure.” Deryn circled around Merlin and ran a finger over the minute carvings on the collar. “It was found a long time ago and was passed down through my family. It’s been called a blessing. And a bane. Let me show you how it works.”

Deryn brushed a curl of her dark hair back, took out a bone-handled knife, and plunged it into Merlin’s gut.

Merlin opened his mouth to scream, to breathe, to cry. But he could not draw breath. The pain was a fire in his stomach. It blazed through him. He shuddered and realized he’d closed his eyes, tears leaking over his cheeks. 

He opened his eyes to see Deryn again. She pulled the knife out.

Agony again. Merlin began to wail, low and keening, each breath he took to cry out was misery. 

A wound to the stomach was a death sentence. No one could fix that kind of injury. Not even Gaius. Why had she decided to kill him? Panting and curled over his wound, Merlin watched Deryn wipe off her knife.

“It is a very powerful treasure. One that I’ve had to protect my whole life.” Deryn said. “It should reveal its purpose now.”

And just as she spoke, Merlin felt the pain intensify. He choked.

Every nerve around his wound began to blaze even more. He was dying. He had to be. How could he endure this? 

Restrained by the chair, Merlin began to tremble and shake, screaming and screaming and screaming. The collar was killing him. 

Hours passed. Or many minutes. Merlin could not tell. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with tears. 

Eventually, he noticed that Deryn had approached him again and lifted his shirt. Merlin caught sight of his stomach. No, it couldn’t be.

The wound was gone. There was blood. And a thin, pale scar. But no gaping knife wound. Nothing.

“It heals.” Deryn let Merlin’s shirt drop back down. “Painfully. So,” Deryn brought a chair over and sat down in front of Merlin. “I’m going to ask you some questions. If you refuse.” Deryn held up the knife. “You know what to expect. No surprises.”

Merlin felt the blood leave his face. He threw up all over his lap.

“Let’s get started.”

Sometime later, Merlin found himself being dragged, arms supported and legs limp. Then he was dropped. Someone was calling his name. Every inch of him throbbed, raw with remembered pain.

Merlin felt himself being turned over and he cracked his eyes open. 

He found Arthur above him and a rough hand touching his cheek. There was something soft beneath his head. 

“Can you hear me? Are you alright?” Arthur’s voice was far away. “Where are you hurt?”

Merlin could not help but attempt a smile. 

He wasn’t hurt anywhere. It was all healed. But he still shivered and ached. And it still felt like he had the collar on. He could feel its phantom weight around his neck, cold and heavy. 

“Fine.” He managed to rasp in answer to Arthur’s questions. Merlin closed his eyes again. He was so tired. “Not… hurt.” He sighed.

“How am I supposed to believe that when you’re covered in blood?”

“Magic?”

Merlin heard a soft laugh above him and felt a cool hand push his sweaty hair back from his forehead. He drifted. 

Merlin awoke to yelling. And pain. 

His eyes snapped open. 

Arthur was being held back by two of the bandits. 

And Deryn was there, standing over Merlin. “Come along.” She ordered. 

Swaying and still half-asleep, Merlin struggled to his feet and followed her.

The moss-covered cave room. The box. The collar.

It began again. 

But Merlin was ready. 

Last time, he didn’t know what to expect. But now he did. No surprises. 

As soon as Deryn fastened the golden, crescent-shaped collar about his neck, Merlin kicked out with every ounce of magic he had. 

He burned his bonds away. He threw Deryn across the room and heard her spine snap. Then Merlin ran. He knew the way. Falling, half-conscious, he ran to Arthur. 

Merlin raised his hands and ripped and tore the wooden cell to pieces. Wood splinters flew. Dust hung in the air. Shouting. Crossbow bolts flew. 

“Arthur!” Merlin roared. 

Merlin looked at one of the bandits and they burst into fire and sparks. Screams. 

They ran. Out of the cave. And into the cold night.

Merlin didn’t realize that they had stopped until he found himself in Arthur’s arms. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Gaius. He- he’ll fix you up, I promise.”

Arthur was laying him down on the cold, wet ground. In the light of a weak dawn, Merlin could see two crossbow bolts sticking out his chest. How had he not noticed?

Arthur’s hands moved to Merlin’s neck, around back, to take off the collar.

No. 

Merlin flung his hand out and pushed Arthur away. “Don’t.” He gasped. 

The collar was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Take out the bolts.” Merlin begged. “Not this.” He touched the gold collar. 

“I don’t understand.” Arthur’s eyes were wide. And frightened. 

“It’s magic.” Merlin’s thoughts were too fuzzy to properly explain. “It heals wounds. Take the bolts out. Let it heal me.”

Arthur moved forward, grimacing. “Right now?”

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “Should I schedule a better time for you?”

At that, Arthur gave him a watery smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Merlin took Arthur’s hand and guided it to one of the bolts. “Let’s get started.”

Whumpay - Day 3

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Made A Lab Rat Mini Challenge 3 - Torture - Branding Original Work - My Name is Evil

For twelve hours a day, every day, Evelyn had been tested.

They asked him to build from schematics. They asked him to design schematics. They immobilized him in the same chair and had him direct others to build machines.

They gave him drugs. A lot of drugs. They would dose him with something that made him nauseous and faint and dizzy and asked him to complete tasks. Solve equations. Answer their questions. Blindfolded. Ears plugged. Starved. Sleep-deprived. Sedated. Hot. Cold. Dizzy.

Over and over and over.

He was tested under every possible circumstance. Every possible test. Until now.

Evelyn winced as the needle probed beneath his skin and into a vein.

Evelyn wanted to pull away from the needle and the IV bag and everything they were about to do to him, but the restraints kept his wrists, ankles, and chest firmly pressed to the chair. He swallowed hard. The IV needle was taped to his skin and the nurse left the room without even meeting his eyes.

The door hissed and clanged shut.

Evelyn only had a minute or two to try and calm down before the door opened again and someone else entered.

The lady wore a strained smile and a nice suit. She sat down, keeping the table between her and Evelyn. And ignoring him, she began to shuffle through the papers she had brought. After what seemed like ten minutes or so, she spoke.

“My name is Ms. Brown, I am the Assistant Deputy Supervisor at the Bureau of Extrohuman Affairs and Regulation. I am here today to give your official status and category as an Extrohuman, witness your tagging procedure, and answer any questions you have. Do you understand?”

She never looked at him, not once.

Evelyn opened his mouth to speak.

The nurse came back.

Ms. Brown continued. “Evelyn Earl, your tests indicate that you place with the Enhanced Category, subtype Intelligence, archetype Crafter, division Mechanics.”

The saline was cold and Evelyn began to shiver. Of course he was good with machines. That was obvious. Why did they have to test for it? Why?

The lady continued. “Established legal precedents necessitate a procedure to display your status upon your person, this is sometimes called tagging. Once this procedure is completed, displaying this status mark will be used in conjunction with other identification you carry in order to comply with requests for identification. Please give verbal confirmation that you understand this procedure.”

The lady stopped talking and looked up at Evelyn. Staring at him.

Finally looking right into his eyes. Nothing in her expression indicated that she was looking at another human being. He may as well be another piece of paper that needed initials and dates.

Evelyn started when he realized he was meant to speak.

“Oh.” He licked his dry lips. “Right, yeah, I understand.”

The lady made another note on her papers. The room was so quiet that Evelyn could hear her pen scratching.

Eventually, the lady looked up and nodded at the nurse. “You may proceed.”

The nurse wheeled a cart with a machine closer to Evelyn. The nurse turned it on and the machine began to hum. Evelyn only began to panic when the nurse began to untie the front of his gown.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn felt his heart begin to quicken.

The nurse bared his chest and disinfected the skin over his heart.

The lady with the papers got up from the table.

“What is the procedure?” Evelyn asked, panic edging his voice.

“Identification.” Was all the lady answered.

The nurse leaned in close, holding something like a pen, which was connected to the machine by a cord.

“What is that?” Evelyn could not tear his eyes away from the strange pen.

The nurse turned and looked at the lady.

The lady shrugged.

What was tagging?

When the pen first touched his skin, Evelyn thought he had been cut. But when the smell of sizzling, burning, charred flesh filled his nose, he knew this was false.

Evelyn let out a scream and struggled to get away from the electrocautery device. But the bindings held him firmly.

The pain continued and amplified.

Evelyn thought he could hear the pain. Like barbed wire screeching through his ears.

He screamed again. And again. Evelyn felt sweat bead upon his forehead and roll down into his eyes, stinging and hot. He sobbed until his throat became raw. It went on and on, for what felt like hours.

Then, the hum of the machine ceased. The nurse moved away. A crinkling sound

Evelyn was left panting. He cracked his eyes open and saw the nurse was unwrapping bandages.

He could not stand it any longer. He needed to know.

Evelyn looked down to his chest, to the spot over his heart.

Shiny, bleeding burns. The smell of cooked flesh. Skin crackling.

A series of numbers and letters. They meant nothing.

But they were now branded into him. Into his flesh. Tagging. Identification.

Evelyn let out another sob.

Whumpril 2023 Day 18: “Take me instead.”

L.A. Confidential (1997)

Merry Whump of May - Day 4

“Two birds, one bullet.”

Chess Pieces

Stubborn

Tower

(Original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

Rex did it without even thinking.

He saw the farmer raise his rifle. Saw the finger tremble. Stockton flinched.

The crack of the gun.

Rex just didn’t think.

He just wanted to protect Stockton, his friend.

Rex raised his hand and pulled the bullet away from Stockton’s head. It flew past his friend and slammed straight into Rex’s guts. A blinding punch of paralyzing pain. 

Yeah, he hadn’t really had the time to stop that too. Oh well. 

Rex heard the wind leave his lungs and he crumpled to the ground. Honestly, the ground was just much more comfortable. The sun was at high noon so he closed his eyes against it, his eyelids red with its heat. 

Someone was shouting. Probably Burden.

They had approached the homestead as carefully as possible. They needed some supplies and were willing to barter with the farmer. But the guy was scared. Rex couldn’t blame him. Bandits were everywhere. And they didn’t really look trustworthy to begin with.

So when Stockton and his big mouth had said something just the tiniest bit sassy, the farmer got a little more nervous than the situation really called for. Rex had tried to talk him down. So did Burden. But of course, Burden wasn’t a people-person. So Burden had made it worse.

Stockton had taken a step closer to the property line. And that was it. The farmer fired.

Thank god he only fired once. Rex didn’t think he could curve another bullet today. His belly hurt too much, every breath he took it felt like someone was digging a shard of glass into his intestines. 

“My fucking ear!” Stockton was wailing.

Rex cracked his eyes when a shadow fell over him. It was Burden.

“Hey.” Rex whispered. “Stockton okay?”

“He’s being a little bitch.” Burden’s eyes looked Rex up and down.

Rex felt a crushing pressure on his wound and a soft keening wail escaped his lips. 

“Sorry.” Burden was pale. Eyes wide. Burden was scared. When had Burden ever been scared? “I’m sorry but I gotta put pressure on it.”

Rex nodded.

Someone said something. Burden turned away, shouting an answer. “The moron fucking moved it. You’ve seen him move things before. He moved the fucking bullet! Happy?”

Rex closed his eyes again against the bright sun. It was a hot day. Why was he so cold?

“Okay, we’re going. Get ready.” Burden had turned back and murmured into Rex’s ear.

Rex nodded. He braced himself.

It wasn’t enough.

Burden’s strong arms slipped behind Rex’s shoulders and under his knees. As soon as he was lifted from the dusty ground, Rex screamed. Everything went quiet. His ears rang.

When Rex opened his eyes again, his head was turned upward. He saw the sun and sky disappear, replaced by the roof of a porch and then a doorway. The cool darkness of a home. He heard Stockton’s voice and the soft sobs of someone else. Stockton was explaining something.

“I’ve got you, Rex.” Burden said softly and Rex felt it. He felt the vibrations of Burden’s words through his chest.

Rex leaned his head against Burden’s shoulder and just tried to breathe through the pain.

“Where can I put him? There a table somewhere?” Burden shouted. 

“In here!”

Rex heard a sweep and the sound of many things hitting the floor. He angled his head downward and saw dozens of chess pieces rolling across the hardwood floor. And then he was laid out on a table, hard and shuddering beneath him. 

Rex eyed the dusty light fixture above him. 

Burden came into view again.

“Hey.” Rex whispered.

Burden tried to smile. “Hey.”

“Stockton okay?” He asked again.

“He’s still a little bitch, but he’s an alive bitch.” Burden sighed. “Pressure again.”

Blinding pain in his gut and Rex’s ears began to ring. Tears slid from his eyes and trailed down his cheeks and into his ears. 

“Ow.” Rex said softly.

Stockton came into view, covered in blood.

Rex reached out and grabbed Stockton’s arm. “You’re hurt.”

“Just my ear.” Stockton turned to show Rex a bloody, dark wound on his ear. A chunk of cartilage was just missing.

“Too bad it wasn’t your mouth.” Burden grumbled. 

“Mister, I am so sorry.” The farmer’s tear-stained face came into view. “I’ve never shot anyone before, it’s just some people have been showing up lately and-”

“It’s okay.” Rex tried to speak around the pain. He swallowed hard. “It’s okay, what’s your name?”

“Oh, Ed.” The farmer named Ed wiped his eyes on a handkerchief. “Eddie Lang.”

Rex held out a hand to Ed, only just now noticed his own fingers were covered in blood. “Nice to meet you Mr. Lang. I’m Rex. These are my friends Burden Chatham and Stockton T. Hunt.”

Ed Lang hesitated a moment then took Rex’s hand warmly. “Just Ed is fine. It’s nice to meet you. I am so so sorry I shot you, Mr. Rex.”

“Not a bother, Ed.” Rex’s eyes were drawn to a fallen castle chess piece on the table beside him. “I’m sorry we interrupted your chess game.”

Ed sniffed and smiled a little. “Oh, I was just playing against myself. It passes the time.”

“I haven’t had a good game of chess in years.” Rex wheezed.

“Alright.” Burden growled. “Enough. Mr. Lang- Ed, got any medical supplies? Better yet, there a doctor nearby?”

“Next farm over.” Ed answered. “Checked in with her a week ago, she takes supplies and pills as payment for services.”

“We can make that work.” Burden’s hand left Rex’s wound. “Stockton, pressure.”

“Right, yes, sorry.” Stockton winced when he looked at the damage to Rex’s guts. He went pale and then green.

“Don’t throw up on me.” Rex begged. “Please.”

“I won’t.” Stockton reassured him. “It’s the least I can do for my savior.” Rex rolled his eyes. “Sorry about your ear.”

“Don’t worry about it. Gives me character.” Stockton grinned. 

Rex smiled. 

Burden reappeared, speaking to Stockton. “We’re going to get the doctor. Ed says to watch his aunt. Thirty minutes tops.” 

Burden leaned close to Rex, putting a hand to Rex’s cheek. His fingers were rough and warm. “Can you hang on thirty minutes?” Burden murmured.

Rex nodded, looking into Burden’s eyes, the only kind and soft part of Burden.

Burden nodded too. Then disappeared.

The house fell silent. 

Stockton frowned. “What aunt?”

“Me.” Came a soft voice from across the room. 

Stockton screamed, jostling his hand against Rex’s wound. So Rex screamed. 

Stockton whirled around and Rex turned his head as best as he could.

There sat a wizened old lady, perched in an armchair with a tv tray in front of her. Several playing cards were laid out on the tray in a pattern.

“Pardon us, ma’am.” Rex nodded as best as he could considering the angle. “I would stand and introduce myself but-”

“You may have heard, I’m Stockton, this is Rex.” Stockton cut in. “Have you been sitting there the whole time.”

“The whole time.” Ed’s aunt repeated. “I’m Hazel Lang.” Her wrinkled mouth twisted into a smile. “I’m surprised Ed shot you.” She looked to Rex.

“Me too.” Rex grunted. 

“Two birds, one bullet.” She commented.

Rex didn’t dare laugh, but it was a little funny. “Playing solitaire, Miss Lang.” 

“Tarot.” She replied. 

“Neato.” Stockton said.

“Should I do a reading for you?” She asked. 

Rex thought for a moment. “Can’t think of a better opportunity, honestly. Read away.”

Both Hazel and Stockton worked to keep Rex alert and responding as Hazel Lang explained shuffling the deck. Rex clumsily cut it with his bloody fingers. And then she began the reading. 

Hazel laid out three cards on the table beside Rex’s head. “This is a basic reading, son: past, present, and future.”

“Okay.” Rex blinked and tried to keep everything in focus. 

They had changed out towels for his wound a few times. Rex had lost count. Each time Stockton went to grab another he’d looked more and more worried. 

Hazel flipped the first one. 

“What’s it?” Rex slurred.

“The Devil.”

He lost time as Hazel explained that this was his past.

That made sense. 

The second one was flipped. “This is the present. The Ten of Swords.”

“Can… I see?”

Miss Hazel held the card out. A man lay on the ground, pierced by many swords. 

“That…that sums it up.” He sighed and closed his eyes. 

“And the future. Oh.” Hazel Lang fell silent. 

Stockton asked. “Is that one bad?”

“Generally.” Hazel answered.

“Give it to me… s-straight, Miss Lang.” Rex opened his eyes. Colors were blurring together. 

“The Tower.” The elder pronounced.

The front door banged open. Rex heard Burden’s voice from far away.

“Sounds ‘bout right.” And Rex fell into darkness.