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“Breathe, come on, deep breaths,” The Dark Lord hissed, voice low with concentration, barely audible over the sound of The Chosen One’s ragged gasping. He gripped the gauze in his teeth, braced his hand against The Chosen One’s chest, and tore the jagged barb from his stomach in a swift, single motion.
There was an awful noise of flesh squelching and tearing under his fingers. The Chosen One screamed, a sound of primal, wordless agony—the Dark Lord threw himself to the side as twin bolts of blazing, red-hot energy seared over his shoulder. It didn’t matter that his eyebeams weren’t fired out of anger or malice, the action uncontrollable—they would still burn for hours if they met flesh.
Recovering quickly, The Dark Lord tossed the barb away—about the length of his forearm, thick enough that his fingers and thumb were barely able to meet around it—and moved forward, shoving the bandages firmly into the wound. The Chosen One flinched with a choked noise of pain, eyes glowing with barely-controlled scarlet light. The welling-up shimmer of blood and black ooze disappeared beneath the pastel gauze, but its cheerful shade darkened almost immediately. The Dark Lord tore more bandages from the roll and pressed them down on top of that, setting his teeth. He could feel The Chosen One’s abdominal muscles spasming beneath his fingers.
He vaguely regretted laughing at The Chosen One for snatching the roll of gauze from a platform they’d ransacked a few months ago. We’ll never need it, he’d said.
The Chosen One could snark I told you so later. “You got it, it’s out, it’s over,” The Dark Lord assured him hurriedly, pressing harder on the wound. The Chosen One’s breathing hitched; he sagged forward against The Dark Lord’s shoulder, muscles taut and trembling from the onslaught of pain. His skin was hot, burning even through The Dark Lord’s black combat suit.
It took long, far, far too long in The Dark Lord’s eyes, but slowly the bandages started to retain their normal, white-tan color for more time before the blood seeped through. After a few minutes he was able to keep a single, knotted-up clump in place; in the meanwhile the tension in The Chosen One’s frame had been slackening, seeping away as he sagged more fully into The Dark Lord’s side. He hoped it was more from the ebbing of pain than the loss of blood.
The Chosen One made a low noise in his throat against The Dark Lord’s chest—seemingly trying to form words, with little success. “Don’t try to talk,” The Dark Lord instructed. He snatched a final length of gauze and used it to wrap The Chosen One’s stomach, securing the current bandages in place.
The Chosen One huffed a breathy groan as The Dark Lord worked, shifting a little against his shoulder. The Dark Lord hushed him in a quiet voice, movements quick and intentional; in a few moments he tied the bandages off and was able to take his fingers away.
And thus the hardest part was over with. After a pause The Dark Lord found himself pulling The Chosen One close; he lifted his hands to his back and shoulder, drawing him in, holding him there. The Chosen One’s breaths were labored and shaky, hot against the side of his neck—better, yes, but still unsteady. The tension in his muscles had all but vanished now, slumped fully into The Dark Lord’s arms.
“That’s good, Chos,” The Dark Lord heard himself praise. His voice was faint—absent, almost, it seemed to him. He felt he was able to relax some, too; the thick, near-physical discomfort that plagued him at the sight of The Chosen One’s suffering was diminishing as well. “That’s better, huh? Just breathe.”
“Doing...that,” The Chosen One bit out haltingly, his words little more than a rasp. They carried a note of dry humor, to The Dark Lord’s surprise, barely detectable through the overlaying gasps.
The Dark Lord felt a flicker of hope igniting in his chest at the words. The quip was proof, no matter how slight, that The Chosen One was all right…or, at least, that he was going to be.
There was quiet for a while, save The Chosen One’s heavy breaths with that infuriating tiny rattle in them. The Dark Lord seethed in silence; wanted it gone, and he wanted him better, right now.
“All right, let’s get you up,” The Dark Lord said eventually, shifting The Chosen One gingerly to get his arm beneath his. The Chosen One hissed in pain as they came to stand, wounded stomach muscles pulling at the movement; The Dark Lord muttered an apology as they started forward. He cast a glance at the still-sizzling craters in the wall behind him, compliments of Chosen’s eyebeams from earlier. He’d deal with those…sometime. Later.
The walk from the kitchen to The Chosen One’s room didn’t take too long, though it did seem to stretch on a little further at each gasp and wince The Dark Lord heard as they climbed the staircase. The air around The Chosen One’s hands was hazy with fire-heat by the time they’d reached the second floor, and The Dark Lord thought he caught a glimpse of smoke rising from his gritted teeth; he was glad their destination was only a few steps out at that point.
“I’d end that glitched piece of code trash for you,” The Dark Lord offered, helping The Chosen One to sit on his bed, “but...”
The Chosen One barked a laugh and clearly regretted it immediately. When the massive, quill-covered beast from the gif.thology website they’d been ravaging had skewered him with a sharp, brutal strike of its tail, The Dark Lord had appeared in a blaze of fury and beaten the creature beyond recognition, torching the ashes for a few minutes longer than strictly necessary. The Chosen One himself had had to divert his attention to more pressing matters, having stumbled off a ways to collapse to his knees, whole body shuddering as it tried to reject the venom-laced spine lodged deep in his stomach. Even then The Dark Lord had been reluctant to cease his torment of the unidentifiable scorch mark on the bottom of the webpage, but his concern for his companion had won over and he had finally left it in peace.
“A bit much,” The Chosen One agreed now, a hint of mirth breaking through the tight look of pain on his face. “But…needed help there. Thank you.”
“Always.” There was friendliness in The Dark Lord’s tone, but no hint of insincerity. “Always.”
The Chosen One coughed a few times as he tugged the blanket over his shoulders, curling up a little onto his good side against the mattress. The Dark Lord left the light off as he passed through the threshold of The Chosen One’s room, descending the staircase and returning to the ground floor. He kicked the near-finished roll of bandages aside and made his way to the back door, slamming it open and igniting his fists with burning energy.
He had a grease spot on gif.thology.net he needed to visit.