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Ponk hurt.
Well- in this case, the word hurt had multiple meanings.
Yeah, he was physically hurt. His entire body ached, it felt like he was on fire. He’d do anything to get rid of this physical pain. It was unbearable. But that isn’t what was meant.
Ponk mentally hurt.
His whole world caved in on him in the time span of 5 hours. He had nobody to turn to, nobody to help him. The one person who might’ve helped him has now become the one that has done this to him. The one who put him through pain. The one who tortured him willingly. He hurt and there was nobody there to help. In his current time of need, the only person who was there to comfort him, to help him, to be there for him, was himself.
In present time, the small, pained boy was curled up on the cold, damp dirt. He had done what minimal first aid he could on himself, but the blood he lost still did a damage on his strength.
He had absolutely no food with him, no water, no warmth, no nothing. All he could do was lay in the fucking dirt in the middle of the night, the only thing keeping mobs away from him for the most part was a singular torch that he managed to grab.
His red, black and yellow ski mask had come off a while ago, the fabric pushed against his only remaining, and also biggest, open wound.
His white hair was a mess, the ends of it were singed, dirt, leaves, gravel and sticks were stuck in it, small strands sticking to his face. He had somehow worked up a sweat, whether it was from pain or from the journey he took to even get this far into the forest, he didn’t know. What he did know, is that the sweat sure was making stuff stick to his face, said stuff being his own hair, grass, more dirt.
It would be a miracle to him if his wounds didn’t end up getting infected. This whole situation was filthy. He had no disinfectant, so what little he had tried to do to dress his wounds was dirty and unsanitary as well.
Ponk wanted badly to get up, to find somewhere, anywhere that he could help himself, but he wouldn’t even be able to get up without having to take his right arm off of his wound.
You may be thinking, ‘oh, but what about his left arm? He could use that one to help himself get up!’ well that’s where you are wrong, sadly. The current wound that Ponk had his mask on, adsorbing blood from, is where his left arm is- well- would be. It was gone. His left arm is gone. A stump being all thats left. He wouldn’t even be able to walk straight if he managed to get himself up, his balanced is screwed now. He’d have to re-learn how to balance himself.
He was clinging to consciousness, knowing that if he let himself pass out, his survival would be fucked. He slowly pulled his mask away from his wound, which really was a mistake. But you can’t blame the guy, you’d be acting irrationally too if you had lost as much blood as he did at that point.
As soon as he pulled it away, blood gushed out. It was everywhere. On his clothes, his skin, in his hair, coating the grass and dirt. It looked like someone got murdered, which might as well be what has happened. At the gorey scene, Ponk lost consciousness, unable to keep himself awake.
-Ponk bled to death.-
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The white haired boy woke with a start.
He was in a bed, he couldn’t tell whos bed, but it certainly wasn’t his. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, but he certainly wasn’t healed. Having died only did so much for his wounds.
The remnants of where his left arm was is still practically an open wound. His skin still radiated heat, heat blisters being left behind all over his legs from the lava. He hurt, but this time more physically than mentally.
He was in somebody’s house, he didn’t know and honestly didn’t care to find out. The bed must’ve been the last place he had marked his spawn point at. Whoevers house this is, he was going to steal.
He cautiously managed to push himself out of the bed, the crinkled sheets of it being varying shades of green. He leaned himself on the wall, using it to help himself walk. The cold stone felt good on his right side.
Carefully, he walked himself over to a cluster of chests on the wall opposite to the bed, hoping that they would have something, anything in there that could help him. He laid himself onto his knees, pushing open the first chest, in it was absolutely nothing. He furrowed his eyebrows but moved onto the next one, that chest had a few things in it, those things being useful too.
There were some bandages and a regeneration pot loosely sitting in the chest, it would not be enough to actually fully dress his wounds, but it was a start. He pulled the things out, setting them next to him and turning himself around, leaning his back against the chest that is now behind him.
He grabbed the regeneration pot, wasting no time to try to open it. He ended up having to hold it in between his legs to pull the cork off, carelessly tossing it to the side and downing the potion after. It tasted disgusting, like acetone, but he ignored the taste, knowing that it was going to help him.
He placed the now empty glass bottle to the side, now grabbing the bandages. It was going to be a struggle to do this with one hand.
It took some time, but he managed. He tied the bandages as tight as he could around his left stump. It hurt like a bitch, but he sucked it up. It would’ve hurt more if he hadn’t drank the regen pot. He’d have to find a way to do stitches once he got himself away from this persons base that he’s in.
Shakily, he managed to rise to his feet again. Using the wall for support as he did before, he began walking, making his way to the exit of the base.
It was when a dog ran up to him that he realized where the hell he was.
The white dogs collar read out the name fran .
Ponk was in Sam's base.
A wave of fear coursed its way through him when he realized. He can’t be here. If Sam found out that his last spawn point was still set here then he’d have his head. He tried to open the door, but it was locked and he knew without a doubt that Sam had the key with him. He quietly cursed to himself, frantically looking for another way to get out. To the side of the door, there was a window. The glass seemed thick, but he could manage to break it if he slammed all his weight onto it.
With this in mind, he did it. He threw himself against the window, the glass shattering, some shards sticking themselves into him, putting rips into his clothes and sending fresh blood flowing down his arm. Ignoring this, he pulled himself out of the now hole in the window, bursting into what seemed like an attempt to run once his feet hit the soft, grassy ground.
The longer this attempt at running went on, the more out of breath he felt. He had made it quite far, to the community house, before he collapsed. He leaned against the wall and began heaving, it hurt his already dry throat. Nothing came out of course, he hasn’t eaten a thing for the past day or so. He should’ve eaten when he was trapped in Sams base, but he was too concerned about his wounds to even consider eating.
Ponk closed his eyes and groaned, he had absolutely no clue what he was going to do next. He had no base or friends to go to. And even if he did, he didn’t have the stamina.
Just as Pok was about to curl into a ball and give up, he heard the heavy footsteps of someone walking into the community house. He hoped that the person would just ignore him and leave, but obviously, that was not the case.
“Ponk?!?” A familiar voice rang out, concern lacing it. Foolish. Foolish was the one who walked in.
Foolish.
The same Foolish that he tried to convert to the egg.
“Ponk- Dude are you okay?!” Foolish spoke out again.
Ponk looked at the Totem God. He looked the same as he always did, just now with a look of concern splayed across his face.
Ponk opened his mouth to attempt to respond, but all that came out was a choked sob. He had no clue why he began crying, but it felt good. He was holding it in for a while.
Foolish stayed silent, watching as the small, broken man bawled his eyes out. Foolish hadn’t even noticed that Ponk didn’t have his mask on, more concerned about him at the moment. The taller man walked closer to the smaller, crouching down to be closer to his level. “
Hey- dude can I pick you up..?” Foolish asked in a soft tone, trying his hardest to not startle he other. Ponk couldn’t get out any words, so he just gave a brisk nod.
Foolish carefully wrapped his strong, golden arms around the boy, picking him up bridal style and holding him closely to himself. Ponk grabbed onto foolish’s light grey sweater with his one arm, burying his face in it, muffling his cries. Foolish began walking, deciding he was going to take the hurt man to his summer home, seeing as he has more than enough items there to help him out.
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Ponk was now sat in a guest bed within Foolish’s summer home.
He was sipping on a cold glass of water, alone at the moment. He told Foolish about what had happened, how couldn’t he? The golden shark man had been kind enough to aid him, even after all the shit he did to him. Foolish was upset about what Sam did to Ponk, but he had the common sense to not to try to get revenge.
Yeah, Foolish was taller and arguably more powerful than Sam, he could summon lighting for christs sake. But Sam had leverage. He had the prison.
Seeing as Sam tortured Ponk just for some non-working key cards, he would probably do more to Foolish if he ever tried to attack him in the slightest.
Foolish had decided to give Ponk some alone time, he understands that he can’t be all over him after what happened.
Ponk finished the water, setting it to the makeshift night stand that Foolish had put down last minute. Ponk didn’t feel nearly as in-pain as he did a bit ago. Foolish helped him stitch the arm stump shut, with lots of guidance from Ponk.
Foolish gave Ponk materials as well for him to make an ointment to put on the blisters that coated his legs. There was nothing they could do about the bruises that littered his body, but they did the best they could.
Ponk felt broken. Mind and body wise. He hurt, and there was nothing that Foolish could do to fix it.
Sam hurt Ponk.
Sam.
The same Sam that would shower Ponk in love.
The same Sam that would kiss Ponk on the cheek and help him if he hurt himself.
The same Sam that whispered quiet ‘I love you’ s to him while he was on the verge of falling asleep.
Ponk couldn’t help it when he began to tear up again.
He’s lost his Sam.
Deciding he didn’t wanna think about this any longer, he laid himself down and pulled the blanket over himself the best he could. With the hope that he wouldn’t accidentally pull his stitches open in his sleep, Ponk let himself drift off into dreamland.