(no subject)

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan had been doing better, it seemed, talking with more strength and lucidity and staying awake longer at a stretch.

Not any more.

He's lying on his front again, sweat standing out on his skin, when Sinric approaches the bed, and mutters something unintelligible when Sinric touches him.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

For the moment, Hannibal simply holds on to him and lets him cry against his shoulder.

[thewidewideworld]

It takes some time before Sinric cries himself out and when he does, it's out of utter exhaustion.

For three days he has barely slept or eaten, always alert for Athelstan and Ragnar's needs. And now he has failed so completely, all the energy has gone out of him and he hangs like a broken doll in Hannibal's arms.

[cook_the_rude]

Also, his ankle is badly twisted.

"I should take you upstairs," Hannibal says, "and put heparin gel on your ankle, and then bandage it properly. We don't want it to swell after all. And you need sleep."

[thewidewideworld]

He dips his tears laden lashes in an assent, throat to rough with crying to speak. He leans mutely into Hannibal, letting the doctor take him wherever he sees fit.

He should clean up the blood, and collect Athelstan's things from the infirmary, and leave a message for Ragnar but he is too worn down to even think so he lets Hannibal lead him away.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal does think about it, at least partially -- holding up Sinric with one arm, he takes out one of those small devices from the future and captures a rapid sequence of pictures of those bloody footsteps, from the infirmary door to The Door; then, he snaps his fingers at a rat and points at the blood.

But as the rat comes with the bucket, he's already scooped up Sinric to carry him upstairs.

"I'll take you to my office," he announces, "as I've got everything I need to help you in there."