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THWONK!
The sheriff stumbles, clutching at his eye. What was a frustrating game of banter had turned south, weapons drawn as Joel berated Jimmy with arrows from an invisible quiver that lay against his back, sitting in the centre binding of his elytra.
“I’ll see you in court, Toy Boy!” Joel calls as he takes flight, his laughter ringing in Jimmy’s mind like a pinball stuck in a machine. As much as Jimmy would have loved to reply back with a snark, with something along the lines of “Puny God”, all of his energy was being pushed into the adrenaline that was pumping throughout the right side of his face.
He stumbles into his office, laboured breaths slipping from his lips as he struggles to grasp for a medkit. The blood wasn’t stopping, and as much as he knew that he could call for help, he was already committed to doing this himself. The medkit opens with a
click!
and the sheriff rummages through the supplies, finding a cloth with a sigh of relief.
He exchanges the cloth for his water canister, using his mouth to twist the lid open as he makes a horrible attempt at dampening said medical cloth. Jimmy curses under his breath as most of the water spills onto his thigh, leaving only a small bit of the white fabric to end up getting wet. He thinks for a moment, his mouth a thin line. He knew he couldn’t move his hand, lest he bleed out on his own floorboards, but he couldn’t do all of this with just his left hand.
He curses.
He grabs his communicator from where it sat on his belt, shakily opening the screen as he searches for any name; fWhip was busy with building; Jimmy didn’t even want to bother with Sausage; Gem was, as well, busy with her empire, working on her bee farms; Obviously, Joel was out of the question, that man was the reason the sheriff was even in this position.
That left only one person. Jimmy’s inner voice yells at him to just deal with this and suffer alone, that he didn’t need any help, but his rationale won over his instinct; an odd occurrence, he would admit.
He taps on Scott’s name with the pad of his thumb, slowly typing out a message:
Jimmy —> Scott
<Jimmy>
Come to Tumble Town
<Jimmy>
Hurry
He prays that the vague message is enough to entice the colourful man to pay a pity visit to him. Jimmy hears his communicator buzz, but any energy he had was spent on just sending the message to Scott. He presses his back against the wall of the office, taking a deep, controlled breath. He glances down with his good eye when he feels a familiar head bump into his free hand, Norman’s meow a small solace of comfort.
“I’ll be fine, Norm,” Jimmy chuckles out, though the dryness of it provides no comfort, not even unto himself. “I think… I hope.”
He removes his hat, letting it lay limp beside him. Gods, he probably looked nothing short of a bloody mess. Literally. Scott would probably tease him about this, tell him that he could have dealt with this himself, call him a toy, just like everyone else—
“Jimmy? Jim, where are you?”
Jimmy wants to cry just from hearing his voice.
“In here,” Jimmy says, as loud as he can manage. “I’m… I can’t exactly move right now, heh.”
The swinging doors practically break open, the colourful man’s eyes knitted with a concern that fell onto the bloodied mess that was the sheriff’s face. Scott is quick to hurry to his side, trying his best to be careful as his soft hand brushes over the injury.
“When did this happen?”
Who did this to you?
Scott asks in between those words. His hand leaves its place on the sheriff’s face, working the knot open on the magenta fabric that lay around his hips.
“I don’t know how it’s been,” Jimmy begins to explain, “but all I know is that I can’t fix this by myself, because when I tried to, I only made it worse, and—”
“Alright, alright,” Scott mutters, “it’s okay, it’s alright. I’m here, and I’ll help you, okay?” He holds one hand on Jimmy’s cheekbone, the other sliding onto the arrow’s shaft. “Don’t move, because that might make this much worse than it already is.”
Jimmy falls still, holding his breath (a fateful mistake) as Scott mutters a silent countdown from three. The colourful man closes his eyes and, clenching his own jaw, the arrow is pulled free.
The hair on the back of his neck rises at just the shriek alone that escapes Jimmy, feeling a tight hand gripe at his wrist in defence. Scott grabs out a healing potion from the medkit that Jimmy had nearby, pouring it over the wound as he cleans it with the white cloth.
“I know, I know it hurts,” Scott mutters, “but it’ll be over soon. Just listen to my voice, okay? Focus on me.” Jimmy gives a stiff, quick nod, tears wetting the lashes of his good eye.
Thankfully, the arrow tip didn’t do irreversible damage to the sheriff’s eye; though, there would be a pretty rough scar around the area once the skin healed over. At the very least, the good thing was that Jimmy would be able to see, even if it was through a darker lens.
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy suddenly says, dragging Scott out of his thoughts. “I— I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just…” he trails off, a trembling hand caressing the beads of blood that now mark up the other man’s wrist and forearm. He blinks away more tears that fall, his chestnut eyes glossed over with a sadness that never was supposed to be there.
If it wasn’t for Joel, Jimmy wouldn’t look like this,
a little voice whispers in the back of Scott’s head. Scott shakes his head, ignoring the voice for now. Though, that did not dull the fire that was growing in his chest, angered by just the thought of Joel. That God was the reason that Jimmy wouldn’t be able to see right again, and it was solely his reckless aim with a bow.
“Scott?”
Scott blinks, giving the sheriff an ever so kind smile.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Scott confirms. He lifts the back of the sheriff’s head up as he works the magenta fabric around the injury. He lays dirty blonde hair back, so that the fabric wouldn’t fight against the new surface it was tied to. “Purple looks good on you, Jim.”
Jimmy manages a chuckle, though hoarse.
“Might wear it more, so it can match this,” he mutters. His shoulders slump as the healing potion begins to relax his muscles, and he fights sleep as his eyes flutter. Scott sighs, a fond smile creeping onto his face as he settles beside the sheriff. Carefully, he slides an arm around him, tracing small shapes on Jimmy’s shoulder.
“Sleep,” Scott mutters. “I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”
Jimmy gives a small hum, shifting as he lays his head on the colourful man’s chest. He wraps both arms around his waist, his eyes falling closed. For a moment, Scott can hear what he assumes is Jimmy’s avian chirps, but they fade into even breathing not long after.
They’d been here, once. At least, it felt like they had, where Jimmy would fall asleep on Scott, as comfortable and content as one could be. Scott would stay beside him, humming small tunes to himself as he played with the avian’s dirty blonde strands, ever so curly and soft like a familiar silk.
And maybe, they had been in this very position once; maybe there was another world, so long ago, where they would be sitting in Jimmy’s home, content with just being by each other.
There they would be, Scott imagines, with nothing but them in the world. The earth would spin around them, and the setting sun would smile at them through the coloured windows. Both of them would smell of tulips and cornflowers from the flower field that surrounded their little hobbit-esque home, and they would both be happy.
Scott smiles. It’s a nice fantasy, he knows.
He knows, too, that it would never come to fruition, for the universe was ever so cruel in her ways.
For now, this was it. This was all there would be, and he knew.
Scott holds Jimmy a little bit tighter.