He hadn't been bleeding to death when he'd inhaled, and he found himself rapidly praying that the effect was immediate, that Sterling was going to just miraculously recover, that blood wouldn't be spilled over him, splattered on the floor.
Sterling's situation registered more than his own, and it was like he couldn't look at his arm or it would make it real. He couldn't feel more than cold, and that was all right. Distantly, he registered that something was wrong with his arm, but Yu had wrapped it in a towel, he had felt the pressure on it. But he couldn't see blood, so he was fine.
It was a problem to worry about later.
He stared at Qingcheng's neck a second later, like he could see past the blood, see the injury. "It's helping," he said, even though he couldn't see. But maybe if they believed it, it would work.
"I'll call," he said, but he didn't have the faintest idea where his phone was, as the concept of powering down was just out of his thought process. He was supposed to be good in situations like this, why did he feel like he was floating? Why did he feel like he was here, but just barely? Like a ghost, present and absent simultaneously.
"I'll call," Soleiyu said, nearly screamed, from the living room.
He had felt the energy signatures but he had not been fast enough to get there to see what was going on. When he did arrive, he saw blood, and Parisite was yelling for the hospital, and Soleiyu had been too slow to do anything when there were two Captains in the kitchen.
"He knows your identities," Soleiyu said frantically, even as he was typing the number into his phone. "You can't let him report it to the Negaverse, Yu. You can't let him tell anyone. I don't care who you have to get but you have to stop him. I'll take care of this, but don't let him get away."
Nalanda was swimming again, because there were words, but they didn't mean much. "Yu, don't get hurt," he said, because how could he convince him not to go? "Call Karone, Ilya, please, don't do this on your own. I'll take care of Sterling, he'll be okay. We'll be fine, he's bleeding less. It's okay."
He didn't know that. He was desperate, and hoping, and Soleiyu had called the hospital and was already commanding an ambulance.
Nalanda reached his good hand to Qingcheng and stroked his hair desperately. "It's okay. I love you both. It's okay," he repeated, a quiet mantra that he put his absolute faith in, because without it--without them--he didn't know what else there was in this world.
Orangeish Sherbert
BlackSageTea
