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Oswald grit his teeth as he tried to apply pressure on his arm. He'd had to take his jacket off and hold it to the wound so he wouldn't bleed all over the back of the car. The blood soaked the blue fabric. Oswald hoped that it'd come out in the wash; it was his favorite.
In the front seat, Dad adjusted the rear view mirror with worried eyes. “You okay back there, buddy? You've been pretty quiet.”
“Mhm. I'm okay.” Oswald murmured with a sniffle. He was still fresh with shock—it was starting to hurt again, though, as that adrenaline wore off. Really, really bad. Almost like a burning.
“Are you sure?” Dad said.
“Mhm.”
After a moment of silence, Dad spoke again. “We're gonna get you home and patched up, then we're gonna pop Zendrelix Vs. Mechazendrelix in the TV if you feel like it. ‘Kay?”
“Okay.” His voice shook. Oswald knew that Dad was going to call Mom whenever he saw the severity of his arm, and then Mom was gonna notice that it was a bite wound, and then there'd be all that questioning that he wouldn't be able to answer. What was he supposed to even say? ‘Oh yeah, I got bit by a giant yellow time traveling bunny with sharp teeth?’ Noone would believe him.
Then again, what else did it even look like? It's not like there were any dogs nearby. Especially not any dogs that could cause a bite that big.
Whenever Dad had asked him why he was bleeding, he hadn't responded. How could he? A million thoughts were running through his head—but hey, atleast they were alive.
Now, however, Dad was back with the inquiry. “Please tell me, Oz, what happened?”
He remained quiet. Upon the realization that Oswald wasn't going to answer, Dad just sighed.
“I'm sorry, Dad.” Oswald squeaked without thinking.
“Huh?” Dad glanced back into the rearview mirror again to see Oswald looking guilty. “We've been over this, buddy, kids make mistakes. It's okay, I forgive you.”
Oswald had to hold in a sigh. For all Dad knew, he was just apologizing for ever hiding. But that couldn't be more oversimplified. When would Dad notice that it was about five days further from the last day he remembered? Would he ever?
In fact, how had the car even been in Jeff's parking lot? Oswald had walked. Had the rabbit driven?
Maybe it wasn't the time to ask questions. He was just grateful that it was.
Oswald wished he could somehow tell him, make him understand, but how would he? His eyes wandered to the small digital clock in the front of the car. It was 8:27PM. He just wanted to get home already. They weren't too far, but any length of time felt like a millennium right about then.
The throbbing in his arm almost felt like it was worsening. He dreaded having to clean it out. Not only was it going to be seen to be a bite mark, but he was also going to have it disinfected. He hated the way it felt; it was almost always more painful than the way he first got the wound, in most of his experience, but maybe that wouldn't be true this time around. All things considered, he'd been chomped into by a ravenous robot, and most of his other injuries throughout his life had been nothing but minor scrapes and cuts.
“I'm still sorry.” He frowned. “But okay.”
They slowed to a halt at the stoplight, it's red lighting the interior of the car like a blood wash. Oswald looked outside; the opossum carcass was still there.
“Hey, you said you uhh, got suspended from school? What did you… do?” Dad tried to change the subject. “You've never been suspended before, have you?”
“I…” Oswald hesitated, but he knew he had to tell. “You know that kid, Dylan?”
“The one you said is always being mean?”
“Yeah, him. I might've, uhm, punched him.” Oswald muttered.
“Punched him?” Dad said, shocked. “You've never been the violent type.”
“I know, I'm s—”
“But I'm not mad at you. I'm not even disappointed. He's been making your life heck for what, six years?”
Oswald's eyes widened.
“You're not?” He tried to hide the relief in his voice.
“No.” Dad said. “You know, maybe he'll stop messing with you now that he knows you won't just stand there and take it anymore.”
That's wishful thinking, Oswald thought.
“I think that if you thought it was necessary, it was. You've let stuff slide for the longest time, and I'm sorry it even had to get to that point.”
“Yeah…”
The light turned green and they drove on. The rest five minutes of the drive home were uneventful. Kinda painful, but uneventful, and Oswald was so glad to finally be home.
After a moment of silence in the dark whenever Dad turned off the car, Oswald heard him unbuckle his seatbelt. He did the same and reached for the door handle, only to be grabbing at air as his dad opened it from the other side. Dad offered his hand and Oswald took it; after all that time of being forcefully grabbed and dragged around by that big yellow rabbit, he didn't mind. Dad's palms were warm, scarred and roughed and calloused. A natural hand felt better than cold metal.
He let Dad lead him into the house with a gentle guide, though they both remained in silence until they reached the bathroom where the first aid was up in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Dad softly let go of Oswalds hand and pointed to a wooden stool, “Sit and hand me that, would ya?” He said, referring to Oswald's jacket that was still tightly pressed against his arm.
Oswald sat on the stool and pressed the cloth to his arm a moment longer. He didn't want to show it to him… to really show it to him, but he had no choice. He was backed into a corner, here. So, clenching his jaw, he lifted the jacket up and off of his arm and hesitantly placed it into his fathers outstretched hand.
His father's eyes widened at the bloody mess of Oswald's arm and silently placed the bunched up jacket onto the swirly brown countertop. “Oz…”
His arm was stained orange with the tint of blood and the wounds were still dripping down; Oswald knew that Dad saw it clearly now: they were puncture wounds. A whole row of them, jagged and weaving to form a deep gash down the front and back of his forearm from where the rabbit's top and bottom teeth had both done the damage. Oswald's heart sank, and so must have Dad's, because his jaw hung open in awe.
“Oz, this is… this is bad, buddy. I… what… how…”
Oswald kept his jaw clamped together, heart racing as a rush of fear filled his body.
“This looks like it needs stitches, and I…”
“Can you put the bandages on..?” Oswald frowned. “I don't wanna look at it…” He said, hoping internally that he wouldn't ask…
But he did. “Oswald, what happened…? It almost looks… this… how did you get this? It almost looks like tooth marks, and it's all bruised, and…”
Oswald closed his eyes and wished he would sink into the floor before any further inquiry. He tried to imagine he were asleep or nonexistent, or maybe dead. Anything but being here.
“...Oz?” He heard his dad mutter. He felt a familiar hand gently lift his chin, and instinctually (though the exact opposite of what he would have wanted to do), his eyes fluttered open to meet his Dad's softened gaze. “Oswald, whatever happened, you can tell me. If it's bad… if it's bad, I need to know, okay?”
“I can't.” He sniffled, lowering his gaze. “I really, really can't.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Dad reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, though he kept his eyes locked on his son the entire time, reaching behind him blindly and patting the countertop until he found it and grabbed it. “I don't even know if I should be using this. God, I wish your mom were here. She'd know what to do…”
Oswald felt further fear settle into his stomach. That stuff hurt, and Dad had openly admitted to not knowing what he was doing.
Dad set the bottle down again after inspecting it for a moment, instead turning towards the cabinet to grab a rag and wetting it in the sink. He squeezed the excess water out until it was just damp. “But I do know that I have to clean it off first.”
Dad lifted Oswald's arm and grimaced openly. Without a further word, he began to blot the crimson and coppery stains off of it to the best of his ability.
Upon the sight of the cleaned wound, Dad shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Oswald could tell that his mind was racing.
“I think I have to call her, buddy. Atleast to ask what to do.” Dad split the silence. Oswald frowned. “I don't… this…”
What else could Oswald do but nod?
“Wheres my…” Dad patted his pockets, twisting around in search for his phone.
“It's in my jacket pocket.” Oswald quickly chimed.
“Wha? Why do you have it?”
“I… uhh, accidentally took it whenever you dropped me off.” He lied.
Dad reached for the bloodied jacket and rummaged around in its pockets. “Jeez, kid, why do you have so much in here?”
“Uhhh, I dunno.”
“Is that my wedding ring?” Dad looked puzzled as out emerged a large metal ring in his hand. “Why did you have that?”
Theres no way he could explain it having just been on the floor in the past. “It fell off your finger when you fell.” An awful lie, but what else was he supposed to say?
Dad remained silent. Oswald could tell that things… things weren't adding up in his Dad's brain. It was only a matter of time before—
“Whatever you say, kid.” In Dad's voice was a tinge of disbelief. Oswald recoiled.
“It's true.” Oswald's voice had grown meek and quiet.
Dad reached back in and pulled out his phone before beginning to dial in Mom's number. The phone began its loud ringing, and Oswald felt his heart pound quicker in his chest. It was loud. Too loud. So loud. Instinctually, Oswald reached for the phone in Dad's hand and muffled the speakers. Pain shot through his left arm with the swift movement.
Dad jumped back and took the phone with him. “Oz!”
It's ear splitting ringing continued to echo throughout the small bathroom, alerting anything and everything to their exact location should anything be searching.
“What are you doing?” Dad exclaimed, shocked.
“It's too loud! I'm—”
It took Oswald a moment to realize his fatal flaw. Nothing was searching for them. He just looked… weird.
“Oz, what is up with you…?” Dad asked, before he heard the phone pick up. “Oh, hello?”
“Hey, is everything alright?” Oswald heard his mother's voice come through the phone (which was, for some reason, on speaker.)
“Yeah, I, uh. I need your advice.” Dad said, taking a quick glance at Oswald's arm. “Can peroxide be used in deep cuts?”
“It's usually used for minor scrapes and cuts to prevent infection, but— wait, what?” Mom backtracked, sounding worried. “What happened?”
“Uhm, see, I don't know, but Oswald…”
“He's hurt?” Mom confirmed.
“Yeah, uhm. I don't know what happened and he won't tell me, but it almost looks like something bit him, and I was just wondering what I should—”
Oswald shut his eyes and pretended to sink into the floor again as they continued.
“Like something bit him?!” Mom exclaimed, her voice painted with concern. He could almost see the look on her face clear in his mind's eye. “What do you mean? Wha- what does it look like?!”
Oswald tapped anxiously at his knee, opening his eyes to see his dad leaned anxiously on the countertop by his jacket, mouth at the phone's speaker. “Not to alarm you, honey, but it's,” His voice lowered into a near whisper, almost as if he were trying to conceal his words from Oswald. This was unsuccessful. “It's pretty deep, and big, and it was bleeding pretty badly, and honestly, I really, really need your help here.”
He sounded stressed. Oswald frowned.
“Uhm, oh, God, just… use what you have. Go over it with a wet rag and clean it out the best you can. I'll try to see if I can come home, okay? That way I can see what you're talking about. Just… do the best you can at the moment. The quicker the better.” Mom spoke at the what felt like the speed of light.
“Okay. Love you.” Dad murmured.
“Love you too. I'll be there in a bit if I can.”
Oswald watched as Dad hung up the phone and defeatedly dropped it on the countertop. Sighing, he turned around. “Alright, Oz… let me see…”
It was clear that Dad was putting on much of a calmer facade than how he was truly feeling. Because Oswald could see right through it. He knew he was confused, worried, and he knew that Dad could also sense his fear. Oswald shifted uncomfortably.
Dad gently took Oswald's arm and began to go over it with the rag again. Then, he took the bottle of peroxide and gave just a splash to the rag. After that, he rinsed it again and brought it back over, hoping to have diluted it decently enough as to where it wouldn't hurt as bad.
Oswald flinched as he felt the familiar burning sensation crawl deeper into his flesh. He whined, though against his instincts to keep quiet. He couldn't help it.
Dad patted him reassuringly. “It'll only hurt for a moment. Probably hurts less than however you got this…”
“That did hurt alot more.” Oswald blurted. “Maybe it's not so bad.”
“I wish you'd tell me what happened.”
“You'd never believe me.” His words moved faster than the speed at which his brain could tell him not to say that.
Dad went silent. He reached into the cabinet for a dry rag to blot the water off with. He began to dry Oswald's arm with a soft touch, careful not to apply too much pressure. “That weird, huh? I'm gonna have to start guessing, aren't I?” He forced a laugh. “Hold out your arm for me.” Dad said as he grabbed the roll of bandages. Oswald complied, and Dad began to wrap his arm firmly with them.
“Finally. I didn't want to look at it anymore.” Oswald commented. “It hurts.”
“I bet.” Dad laughed humorlessly. “Mom will be here soon, and she'll look at it better than I could.”
“I don't want her to look at it.” Oswald murmured, frowning.
Dad perked up. “What? Why not?”
“She'll think it's too serious.”
“Oswald, it is serious.”
“I'm okay, trust me. Please?” Oswald begged. “It— it could've been worse.”
“What's your idea of worse, buddy?”
“Having had my arm ripped off or something.”
“Jeez!” After a moment of silence, Dad continued. “Yeah, that wouldn't have been… good. Maybe she can tell what happened.”
Dad began to hum softly as they sat conversation-less for a moment. Though, after a minute or two, they both heard the sound of the door opening. Oswald flinched, his eyes instinctually searching the room for a spot to hide just in case. Then, he heard the familiar sound of his mother's voice, and the tenseness in his shoulders eased.
“I'm home! Where are you guys?”
“The bathroom,” Dad called as Mom's footsteps grew closer. She entered the doorway and stood for a moment, setting her bags down on the floor.
“Is everything okay?” She began, quickly moving towards Oswald and looking into his eyes with that familiar, gentle nurse look. “How are you feeling?”
“I'm okay.” Oswald said, feeling cornered now that the entire family was packed into their tiny bathroom and staring down at him like he was a dog in a kennel. “You didn't have to come. It's not as bad as Dad was saying it was, trust m—”
“Take off the bandage and look at it.” Dad instructed Mom with a sigh.
“Okay. Hold still, Oz.” Mom said, softly taking off the just applied bandages and handing them to Dad, who had his palm open.
“...Oh.” Mom wowed, her eyes widening, her brows furrowing. “This was the last thing I was expecting.”
Clearly, her years of medical work had desensitized her to any kind of gore, but she was more concerned for her son than the actual injury itself. “Oswald, how did this happen?”
She hovered her finger over his arm, counting punctures under her breath. “One, two, three,” She trailed off, inaudible as she continued to count for a second. They were long and rectangular from the rabbit's powerful first row of teeth, then there were some smaller, deeper holes from the sharper teeth further inside it's mouth. It looked so weird.
“We'll need to watch for infection on this. That wouldn't be ideal.” Mom concluded. “And keep it covered up so that nothing can get into it.”
Mom reached into the cabinet for some gauze, securing several pads onto his arm before wrapping it back up in bandages. “There, all better.” She smiled and patted Oswald's head, though he could tell that deep down inside, she was confused just like Dad was. “Feel okay?”
“Yeah, it feels okay, I guess.”
Mom held a finger on his finger, checking his circulation to make sure the bandages weren't on too tight. Then, she crossed her arms and stepped back. “Okay. Should be all good for now. I—”
“Hey, hon,” Dad piped up, “C'mere a second.” He stepped out of the bathroom door and Mom followed. They closed the door on Oswald. A few seconds passed before he heard muttering out in the hall. Glancing up, he focused all his senses on the door in an attempt to listen.
While he couldn't quite make out what they were saying in it's entirety, he heard a few, select sentences, including: “He won't tell me,” “I don't know what's up,” and “Just don't push about it.”
Mom sounded concerned whenever she spoke, too. “It's just, for the past week…” And then he couldn't hear the rest of what she said. Oswald sighed. What was he supposed to do?
Finally, they reopened the door and Dad eased Oswald up. He looked at his father through his brows and scratched an itch on his nose. “Atleast it's the weekend.” He broke the silence awkwardly.
Dad laughed at the sudden subject change. “Well, why's that?”
“I don't wanna go to school.” He shrugged.
“Buddy, how long did you say you were suspended for, again?”
“What?!” Mom questioned, astonished.
“About that…” Oswald began.