Chapter Text
When Flynn came to, all he could see was the embers of a once roaring fire and the rubble and debris that surrounded him. In a rush, he tugged off his prosthetic leg, thanking the heavens for whatever kept it from melting into his stump, into his flesh. Though he cried in pain as he did, the act required both his hands and he could feel how debris and cloth and flesh were melted together along the back of his right arm. Along the side of his face. Along his entire back and neck.
He searched frantically for his cane, but even with it's metal core, it had been broken and bent beyond the point where he could use it. He reached out with his left hand, crawling as best he could despite how the burn seemed to seep into his muscles. He could see now, the scorched and melted remains of his fallen enemies. Even if he didn't attend Corrith as a child, his god must've decided to look out for him anyway. What other explanation could there be that he survived?
Eventually he managed to reach a long metal pipe, once infrastructure of the ruined building. The building that was meant to be his tomb. Hoppe could never do anything half way, could he? A simple knife to the back would've sufficed. Plus, it would've actually killed him. This just left him in immense pain, and with no idea how to alleviate it. Maybe that was the plan all along. All the more reason to hobble his way out of here. Hoppe would send someone to make sure the job was done, and Flynn had no way of knowing how long he'd been passed out.
Flynn knew the town like the back of his hand, he'd been working there ever since he left Rydain, but New Haven Harbour was a decent ways away from any hospital or care facility. The knowledge ate at his mind though his laboured breaths kept his thinking hazy, unclear. He could tell he was dying, he tried not to think about it. Tried to push forward. Even as he coughed up blood into his hand and as his breathing grew faster and his heart beat loud in his ear, though only his left. Only his left. He was sure his eardrums were burst, but his right one was ringing so much louder. It was worrying.
At some point he couldn't keep going. He collapsed. He was sure he was a dead man. Even if someone did find him, the police would identify him by his marking in no time. Even if he somehow survived he'd be spending the rest of his days in a prison cell. He'd never make it to Corrith. Never escape this wretched life he'd carved out for himself.
He'd never escape.
He hadn't expected to wake up, so when he did, he thought the first thing he'd hear was the scorn of whatever officer had been tasked with interrogating him. Instead it was a young woman, about his age. He squinted in the warm light, it looked like sunrise, he could see the sea in the distance. He must've walked south-west of the harbour. The hospital was the opposite side of the town, he must've gone the wrong way in his haze. His confusion mounted with every moment he had to think. There were hands in his hair, picking and occasionally running fingers through his sloppily-cut scraggle.
"Oh, good morning." Her pleasant voice spoke, somehow reaching him through the ringing in his ears. Her accent sounded like one from Rydain, though one of the more well off areas. She spoke in clipped tones with a clear, light voice. It put him at ease.
Flynn turned his head to look at her before sharp pain reminded him of the injuries crawling up his back and neck. He flinched, a hiss of pain escaping him as he did.
"Careful!" Worry crept into her tone as she began brushing his hair with her hands, her nails on her scalp, soothing him. "You're still injured. My mother is a nurse- she did her best- but you're still-."
"I-" Coughs erupted from Flynn's throat, he raised his left hand to cover his mouth and almost recoiled at the sight of blood.
"Sh! It's okay-" The nurses daughter continued as calmy as she could manage, though panic crept into her voice, "My mother said your lungs might be damaged- You need to take it easy. Just- uhm- Go back to sleep? Yes, sleep. I'll wake you when we have some food and medicine for you."
Flynn would nod if his previous attempts at movement hadn't caused his body to spasm, so instead let his eyes close. Even if the pain didn't allow him sleep, it was easy to allow himself to let go and drift. The feeling of fingers gently cleaning his hair helped.