Patchwork
Part 1 - Sewing
Characters; Garvin (and others), Aries, Briar, and Devery. Rest of GRAIN is mentioned in varying degrees.
Word Count; 5,816.
TWs; Swearing, mentions of arguments, mentions of drugs, mentions of past suicide attempts, ‘mild’ flashbacks, varying dissociation, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues, panic/anxiety attacks, victim-blaming, self-blaming, depression, self-hatred, internalized ableism, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, blood, suicide attempt, implied past suicides, and messy writing/ending. Maybe more? Hard to say.
Notes; This takes place after Boiling Point. How soon or how long after? No idea. Anyways, uh… Yeah. There’s a few different alters/headmates here, but Garvin’s the only one named at all. So. Yeah. Uh. There’s a little at one point, I know that much. Anyways, um. Garvin literally doesn’t have anyone in his system whose job is to keep suicide from happening, in any capacity. Literally the only one who has a very strong ‘no suicide’ feeling is Juke and Juke can only front during July. And only sometimes, and never for very long. So. Uh. Yeah… Suicidal thoughts, ideation, and attempts are all very hard to stop.
*~*~*~*
Garvin had, admittedly, seemed odd the entire day. Or at least since he’d gotten to his and Briar’s apartment. Which, while fine and unminded, had been odd too. Gwyar didn’t think they’d made plans for him to come over, and Odysseus didn’t normally show up uninvited. Even if the two had spoken about that, had reached an understanding, he didn’t really believe that one conversation would’ve been enough to convince his friend. But besides that, his behavior was… Just a little off. The fact his friend was wearing his trench coat doing nothing to help prove that everything was fine.
-
Gwyar had been willing to believe that his friend was just in a worse mood than usual. Such a thing wasn’t all that uncommon, even if that tended to lead to him not showing up. Maybe he was just… Getting better about seeking help. His friend had been doing, not good per se, but better than he had been before, after all. Not better enough to ask his partners, but at least enough to ask friends. Which he felt like he could understand that, at least. He’d gone to Garvin about certain things that he, as much as he loved Briar, didn’t want to risk going to them about. So he’d been willing to give his friend the benefit of the doubt when he claimed he’d just come to hang out. That they hadn’t been able to in a while and that he’d missed doing so.
-
Looking back, allowing the lie and not pushing to figure out the cause of his obviously dipped mood… Probably wasn’t the right way to go. Nobody had always hated talking about that sort of thing though. He’d always ended up upset at himself for ‘complaining about nothing’. Which, in his own opinion, was stupid. Everything his friend ever complained about wasn’t nothing, and they were rarely ever actual complaints. He still wasn’t sure how to go about convincing Garvin of that though. So he hadn’t pushed, not wanting to make anything worse, and Gwyar had ended up on the couch with two of his favorite people.
-
He and Briar had been watching a documentary on Greek mythology before Odysseus had shown up, and they’d gone back to watching the documentary when all three of them had sat down. They’d managed to finish that, and then get about a fourth of the way through a film centered around Odysseus, chosen by Aries because of their guest, before anything happened.
-
Which ended up being Briar getting a message from Nico, responding with a glance at Garvin, and then getting another message immediately after that made them look at Garvin and speak. Their tone being just a little off, questioning, warning, when they spoke. “You had an argument with Rev again?”
-
Gwyar had sat up at that, looking over at his friend in question tensing and looking away before scoffing. He sounded off, voice stilted, almost managing to sound like he was unbothered, like he believed what he was saying. “It wasn’ an argument. Jus’ a… Whatever the fuck. Y’know? We was jus’ talkin’ ‘bout somethin’ an’ it got a lil… Much. No yellin’ though, so, y’know. Not really anythin’.”
-
Aries paused the movie, shifting to look at Garvin and trying to figure out what wasn’t being said. What was being downplayed or forgotten. Odysseus stayed where was for only a moment longer, something he should’ve expected with two sets of eyes on him. With the movie paused. With the topic, the dipped mood, the tension and predisposition to run when overwhelmed that his friend had. He hadn’t though, and so he watched as the moment passed and Garvin stood from the couch, walking with an excuse falling from his lips near without any hesitation.
-
“I’ll be back. Gotta do somethin’.”
-
Gwyar took a breath, shifted back on the couch and tried to ignore Briar’s eyes flicking between him and Garvin. Just for a moment. Then, he glanced towards where Odysseus had gone off to, watching as the bathroom door opened and closed, and sighed. He looked over at Briar, kept his voice leveled. “I’ll talk to him soon, I promise.” He paused, glanced at Briar’s phone, still open to Nico’s message. “Do you need to check on Nico? Make sure they aren’t imploding?”
-
Briar glanced at the message and then at him, “I… Yeah. Yer gonna check on Vin though, right?”
-
He nodded. “Of course. I’ll give him until he gets out here… Or a few minutes to himself. Whichever one ends up happening first.” Gwyar, admittedly, wasn’t sure which one would happen first. He hoped his friend would come out on his own though.
-
Either way, he watched Briar nod and send a message back to Nico. “Right then, uh. Good luck?”
-
He gave a soft laugh, and then grinned. “You too. Hopefully everyone’s not completely spiraled yet.”
-
Briar was out the door less than a minute later, as soon as the two had finished the sideways half goodbye, heading off to their best friend’s apartment. Aries stared at the TV for a moment before rewinding to the beginning of the film and trying to decide how much time he needed to give Garvin.
-
When he couldn’t figure out the answer, he stood and found his own phone. There was a message from Akira that he had missed, asking if he’d seen Garvin at all. Probably the same question Nico had asked Briar, hopefully the answer had been passed along to them. So he switched out of the messages between him and Akira, tapped on Revan’s name instead.
-
‘What was your argument with Garvin about?’
-
He waited for a reply, tapping his foot where he stood in the kitchen area of the apartment. Admittedly, there was no guarantee Revan would even answer. He hoped he did. If only because he wasn’t sure if he had already waited too long or if he hadn’t yet waited anywhere near long enough. Garvin was always tricky to figure out the right timing for. The reply came a few minutes later, glaring at him in dark letters.
-
‘I wanted him to ask about antidepressants at his next appointment. He was more concerned with how that would mean quitting all of his other habits.’
-
He stared at the screen of his phone, at the three dots telling him that Revan was still typing. Gwyar stepped out of the kitchen area as he waited. He’d waited too long already, hadn’t he? An argument about something like that? He’d waited too long. Even longer passed before the next message came through.
-
‘I brought up his last attempt and things spiraled from there.’
-
His blood ran cold for a second, staring at the message and trying not to let himself freeze. Trying not to think of rope and a stool sideways on the ground. Trying not to think of a gunshot and blood. He took a breath through his nose, and sent in return a simple— ‘Okay.’
-
He’d waited too long. He had definitely waited too long. He shoved his phone into his pocket, hitting the power button as he did, and started towards the bathroom door. Each step took too long. Gwyar didn’t let himself run though. Odysseus was tricky. He couldn’t risk losing progress. He was still faster than anyone else would’ve been, which he thanked his height for more than anything else.
-
He knocked on the door when he reached the bathroom, gave his friend just long enough for him to take a breath. When he spoke, he kept his tone calm, as casually gentle as he could, and hoped that would be enough. “Garvin? Are you alright in there?”
---
He closed the bathroom door behind him with one hand, the other already in his trench coat’s pocket, thumbing the pocket knife he had in there. He didn’t think he’d closed it too loudly. He wasn’t sure though. His ears were doing that thing where it seemed like he was underwater again. He leaned against the closed door behind him, trying to catch the breath that he was quickly losing.
-
Did he even deserve to catch it?
-
Not really. Not when he couldn’t even have a conversation with Tucana and Cabernet. All they’d asked was if he’d had an argument. Nothing else. They hadn’t even asked what it was about. Maybe they already knew. Maybe they’d been told. Either way, they hadn’t asked anything else. But they’d both been staring when he’d answered. Staring and watching and waiting and—
-
He was in the wrong. He knew that. He knew that. Making excuses wasn’t going to help anything. He was still making excuses. He always seemed to. It was always just excuse after excuse with him. Lie after lie. Making himself out to be better than he was. Making himself out to be worth more than he was. Tricking people into caring about him when they shouldn’t, leaving when they finally saw through him. He wasn’t sure why it kept working. He wasn’t sure why he never seemed to learn.
-
Fuck, he was just a grade A narcissist, wasn’t he? He just had to make everything about him every chance he got, didn’t he? A selfish, piece of shit that didn’t want to face the damn facts. That couldn’t get it through his thick fucking head that he was worthless. That he would always be worthless. A waste of space that was only ever concerned about himself no matter how much he tried to convince people otherwise.
-
He pushed himself off the door with one hand, stumbling and switching it to a wall to keep himself standing. The tears on his face didn’t have a reason to be falling, he didn’t deserve to cry. His head didn’t have a reason to be spinning. His lungs didn’t have a reason to not be working, but he didn’t deserve to breathe either. His knees buckled under him and, as big of an overdramatic asshole as he was, he still at least tried to make sure that he didn’t make too much noise on his way down to the bathroom tiles. He leaned his head against the bathtub wall in front of him.
-
He kept messing shit up. Lacerta had only been worried earlier and now he probably hated him and— Well, he should. But because he was pathetic, and because he was a damn attention whore that couldn’t handle everything not being about him, he didn’t want Raven to hate him. He should’ve thought about that before ruining everything again though. Before trying to trick any of them into thinking he was worth something, that he wasn’t a waste of space. A waste of breath, of time, of— Of everything.
-
He lifted his head and stared into the bathtub in front of him. Stared at the dark gray sleeves of the trench coat he was wearing. And forced himself to stand, to find his way to sitting in the tub and pulling out the pocket knife he had with him. He’d searched for it, practically torn the apartment he shared with his… He had torn through the apartment he’d been staying in looking for it at one point. Aquila… Akira had taken it from him, he wasn’t even sure how long ago. Finding it felt like breaking a promise. Looking for it had felt like he was breaking a promise. Just another fuck up on his part.
-
He stared at it in his stupid, shaky hands, and set it down for a moment. Just so he could manage to take off the trench coat he didn’t deserve without damaging it, trying to ignore the choked sound he muffled in the back of his throat. He threw it onto the floor outside of the tub, stared at the tombstone on the back of it. He didn’t deserve it. He never had. He never would. It was a waste of fabric on him. Proof of nothing but how many people he’d managed to trick in the past.
-
He paused at the darkened scars on his arms. At what he so badly wanted to blame the day on. He couldn’t. Everything had been his own fault. The scars were all his own fault too anyway. Everything had always been his fault, hadn’t it? Every fucking thing that’d happened to him. He’d asked for it. One way or another, he’d asked for every single thing.
-
He couldn’t take his life, staring at the scars from past attempts. He couldn’t. Rev— Revan would blame himself. Everyone would blame themselves. Maybe. Maybe they’d already realized how worthless he was though. How much he’d been lying to them. It was still a chance he didn’t want to take.
-
He picked up the pocket knife, opened it and stared at its blade. Because even if he wasn’t going to kill himself, that was just one thing off the list of options. And stars knew he had never learned from nothing being done to him. Because of him. As much as he wanted to lie and act as if that wasn’t true. As much as he wanted to pretend there had never been a reason. There always had been. As long as he was alive and breathing air that he didn’t deserve, that he had never deserved, there was going to be a reason.
-
He slashed at his wrist. The pain didn’t seem nearly as bad as it should have been. So he lined the blade up with where he’d just cut as well as he could with a hand that never seemed to stop shaking, and slashed at it again. It still didn’t seem nearly painful enough. Nowhere near the amount of pain that he deserved. So he set his jaw, ignored the throbbing pain behind his eyes, and tried again. When the third time in the same spot still didn’t seem to hurt, he glossed over the blood running down his arm, and moved the pocket knife down to try somewhere lower on his arm instead. He tried again lower when nothing registered that time either, sliding the blade across his arm and trying to understand why there was blood but not any pain. Not any that hadn’t already been there, at least.
-
Trying to understand why the world was slanted and blurred. Why his hands were shaking more than before, why he almost felt like he was seeing through himself. He slashed again, blinking and trying to clear his vision. He felt like he was swaying, like he was sideways. He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. He could see that he wasn’t. It was a hard thing to see. He gritted his teeth, moved the blade across his skin again. He was fucking things up. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing for a moment. He slid the sharp edge over his arm again before trying to take a breath. He couldn’t hear it if he did. He slashed across his arm again.
-
And again. And again and again until his arm that he hadn’t been raking the knife against was shaking too much to keep at it. The pain still didn’t show up when he switched which hand was holding the pocket knife. None of it felt like enough. Not when he didn’t deserve the air in his shitty lungs. Not when he didn’t deserve to live at all. Not after everything he’d done or hadn’t done. He tried again on the arm that he hadn’t done anything to, up to that point at least.
-
It didn’t seem to do anything he wanted it to, other than add more blood to the growing puddle dripping from his arms. It didn’t hurt though. Not the way he wanted it to. Nowhere near as much as he wanted it to. He slashed again, tried to ignore the tears that didn’t have any right to be falling. There wasn’t anyone around to see them, no one that would care if they did. No one that should care if they did, at least. They’d been staring though. How much did they know? How much had they been told? Enough to make them hate him, surely. He was worthless, hard to even tolerate. They had probably been waiting for an excuse to hate him anyway. They didn’t need one, no one had ever needed one. Him breathing at all would’ve worked fine as one if they were so concerned about having a reason to hate him. It was annoying. He was annoying.
-
He slashed at his arm again, barely noticing the ones that he couldn’t remember doing. It still didn’t hurt. It wasn’t enough. His ragged breathing was too loud to him, his head burned behind his eyes. He blinked, faster than he probably needed to, trying to get rid of the pressure. Everything felt… Spotty. He wasn’t sure though. He was messing up. His head was fucked up, it always had been. There was no fixing it, no way to make himself less of a burden. Less of a leech.
-
It still didn’t seem like enough. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. It didn’t help. He bit his tongue, looked away from his arms. He shifted how he was holding the pocket knife around in his hand, staring at the blade. He breathed, put it against his arm, trying to see just how long it was. He pulled it away, moved it to where he was holding it at his elbow. His hand was still shaking, he gritted his teeth, held the tip of the blade against his skin for a moment.
-
He stabbed into his arm, watching as it went through to the other side. He breathed, tried to understand why it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should, and sawed along where he knew the darkened scar was on his arm. Even with it covered in blood still seeping out from new, painless injuries. It was slow going, he thought, eyes unfocused and tears with no right running down his face. He was shaking, or the world was. He wasn’t sure. He’d never been very smart.
-
Almost halfway down his arm, a knock rang through the air. He blinked, eyes sweeping across the bathroom to the door. He couldn’t… A voice reached him through the wood.
-
“Garvin? Are you alright in there?”
-
He didn’t think, he wasn’t sure how his voice came across. “‘M f’ne.” He blinked, trying to get rid of the headache behind his eyes.
-
And then focus slammed back into him like a brick. Staring at a too large puddle of blood underneath him and his pocket knife in his arm, hissing at the pain of it. Garvin pulled the blade out, biting his tongue to not make any noise, and— Tried to figure out what had happened. Tried to get his shitty memory to work long enough that he could put together what happened. He shook, a full body shiver, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
-
He forced them open, ignored how spotty his sight was, and looked around the bathroom he was in. It… He was at Ari’s. When had he gotten to Cabernet’s place? He bit his tongue again. Tried to get himself to think. He… He couldn’t end up back at the hospital. Not so soon after… Lacerta wouldn’t react well. None of his partners would react well. He didn’t want to worry them.
-
He took a breath, tried to get his voice to go loud enough in case Claret wasn’t nearby. “C-Ca’lum?”
-
He couldn’t read the tone he got back immediately. “Odysseus?”
-
His friend went to continue, Garvin blinked and didn’t let him. He couldn’t read his own tone. He wasn’t sure if he had one. “‘M s’rry.”
-
Clare, just like always, didn’t even acknowledge the apology. He wished he would. He wished he’d yell at him. “What’s going on? Can I come in?”
-
Garvin stared at his arms, at the blood pooling in the tub, at the bloody pocket knife in his hand. He shook his head. “N-No, no. Uh. ‘M f’ne.” He took a breath, squeezed his eyes shut again. “I… Ima need… I d’nno. Thre’d? A needle?” He almost laughed, he held back. “Fuck- I don’, m’hands—”
-
“Garvin.”
-
He keened, kept his eyes closed. “I don’ wan’cha in ‘ere— I can’t- Fuck, jus’ g’t me sumthin’ ta sew wit.” The world spun. Time didn’t make sense, he leaned against the wall next to him. He wasn’t going to be able to sew himself back up. His hands were shaking too much, his arms were bleeding too much. He didn’t want Caelum to have to do it. He didn’t want to do that to him.
-
“Odysseus, I’m coming in.”
-
He couldn’t read the tone in his friend’s voice. He tried keening again, as if that would somehow keep him from coming into the bathroom. The sound of the door opening told him well enough that it wouldn’t. So he forced his voice again, as if Ari wasn’t already staring at the scene. “‘M f’ne—”
-
“You’re— You’re not, Garvin. Just… Breathe, okay? I— You’ll be fine.”
-
His eyes were still closed. Maybe. Or his sight had given up on him. He wasn’t sure. Garvin didn’t really care. He pulled his arms into himself, tried to curl. He was cold. “‘M s’rry.”
-
“You— Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for, Odysseus. You’ll be okay. I just… Keep breathing. I’ll… I can close everything up, remember? You’re okay.”
-
He heard the choked sound in the back of his throat, he tried again. “D-Don’ tell any’a ‘em. I don’- Th’y w’rry… T’mu’h ‘bout me.” He shivered, and tried to curl into himself some more. He was pathetic. His partners deserved so much better than him.
-
“I… Garvin, I need your arms.”
-
Garvin felt himself blink. He was tired. He pushed his arms away from him towards where he thought his friend was, forcing his voice to keep working. Forced out another apology. He wished Claret wouldn’t forgive him. “‘M s’rry.”
-
“Just… Keep breathing, okay? Stay awake, talk to me. What— What’s your favorite constellation?”
-
He furrowed his brows, or tried to. He couldn’t tell if he did or not. He let out a ragged breath, and tried to shrug. “I d’nno. Lots’a ‘em. W-Why?” He couldn’t remember all of them anyway. He was cold. He’d never really talked about the stars all that much. Had he? Maybe he had. It had probably been annoying. He couldn’t remember.
-
“You… Who taught you about the stars?”
-
He heard himself whine. A muffled, choked sound in the back of his throat. He felt like he was underwater again. He felt himself shake his head, felt tears streaming down his face. “I- I m’ss ‘im.” His throat closed for a second, he choked on air. “Th’y ha’e me— Th’y sh-shou’d h’te me.”
-
“N-No, please. No one— No one hates you. Y-You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
-
He heard someone keen and wail, it took him just a little too long to realize it’d been him. It took him even longer to realize he’d spoken too. “‘M s’rry— Ple— Don’ be m’d, I… I d’nno why I…”
-
“I’m not mad. No one’s mad. Not at you, not about this.” There was a pause. Maybe. He couldn’t tell. “I… You— You lost too much blood. I can’t— I have to call someone. No one’s mad, no one’s going to be mad. Okay?”
-
He heard himself whine again, cradling his arms to his chest as he blinked and curled into himself. He shook his head.
-
“Garvin, please— I have to. No one will be mad, I promise, just— Please.”
-
He felt himself starting to shake his head again, tears rolling down his face and his throat tight. He blinked, tried to breathe. He wasn’t— Garvin bit his lip. Forced his eyes open, forced them to work long enough to make out Caelum and try to decide if the spots in his vision were as worrying as Cabernet seemed to think they were. Claret looked… Horrified. Garvin was a piece of shit. He leaned his head back against the wall and tried to accept that he was going to be fucking everything up again. He forced himself to nod, and closed his eyes, trying to ignore how cold he felt. How tired he was.
---
Aries didn’t have to wait long for an answer, his friend’s voice coming from the other side of the door rather quickly given… Everything.
-
“‘M f’ne.”
-
Relief and worry hit Gwyar at the same time. He stayed where he was, staring at the door. Garvin was alive, that was good. His words were slurred, that was bad. He bit his lip, tried not to let either thing consume him. Tried not to let the worst case scenario grab him. Maybe Odysseus had brought drugs with him. That’d be bad, but at least it’d mean he probably wasn’t dying behind the door. He swallowed, went to say something, went to knock again— And Garvin beat him to doing so.
-
“C-Ca’lum?”
-
Worry swallowed him whole, his blood running cold. He put a hand on the door handle, his other on the door. “Odysseus?”
-
Garvin spoke before he could ask to come in, before he could ask again if he were alright. “‘M s’rry.”
-
His grip on the handle tightened, he tried not to think about the apology. He couldn’t make a big deal about apologies, not with his friend. And definitely not at the moment. “What’s going on? Can I come in?”
-
“N-No, no. Uh. ‘M f’ne. I… Ima need… I d’nno. Thre’d? A needle? Fuck- I don’ m’hands—”
-
Gwyar interrupted, his blood too cold, his worry too high, to think against doing so. Garvin was panicky about something, the slur in his voice wasn’t good, and he needed thread and a needle? There were only so many things that could be wrong. “Garvin.”
-
Before he could say anything else, something between a high-pitched whine and a wail came from behind the door. His own panic spiked, he just about opened the door immediately.
-
“I don’ wan’cha in ‘ere— I can’t- Fuck, jus’ g’t me sumthin’ ta sew wit.”
-
That was all he could take. His friend was injured. There wasn’t any other reason. Badly too, if he didn’t want Gwyar in there. “Odysseus, I’m coming in.”
-
There was another whining wail from his friend. He opened the door, trying not to let his worry run him down. He met the scene with the scent of blood hitting his nose and the sound of Garvin’s slurred voice hitting his ears. “‘M f’ne—”
-
Aries almost wanted to laugh at how huge of a lie that was, seeing his friend sitting in the bathtub with blood pouring out of his arms and a bloody pocket knife in one hand. He didn’t laugh though, not with the panic trying to freeze him and the pool of blood underneath his friend. Odysseus looked pale. He’d waited too long to come check on him. He went forward, trying to ignore the trench coat on the ground outside of the tub as he spoke. “You’re— You’re not, Garvin. Just… Breathe, okay? I— You’ll be fine.”
-
He hoped he’d be fine. He went to his knees just outside of the tub, trying to scan… Everything. There was so much.
-
“‘M s’rry.”
-
“You—” He paused, trying not to cry himself. The last thing Garvin needed was him to cry. Gwyar couldn’t help his friend if he was too busy crying. “Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for, Odysseus. You’ll be okay. I just…” He wasn’t sure what to do. Two apologies in a short amount of time wasn’t good. He tried to keep himself calm, tried to remember how to scab over other people’s wounds with his ability. “Keep breathing. I’ll… I can close everything up, remember? You’re okay.”
-
Garvin made another noise that managed to break his heart a little more. “Don’ tell any’a ‘em. I don’- Th’y w’rry… T’mu’h ‘bout me.”
-
Gwyar blinked away tears, trying not to think about how clearly that was about his friend’s partners. Trying not to think about how slurred his voice was, how much blood was still coming out of his arms. “I…” He couldn’t promise something like that. They deserved to know if Garvin tried to— He took a breath. Realized that Odysseus had curled into himself. He couldn’t scab the injuries over if he couldn’t get to them. “Garvin, I need your arms.”
-
Odysseus shifted, moving to offer his arms to him, his voice seemed so small. He seemed so small. “‘M s’rry.”
-
Aries bit his tongue, refused to think about the apologies, and took his friend’s arms into his hands as gently as he could. “Just… Keep breathing, okay? Stay awake, talk to me.” He tried to think of something that would keep Garvin’s attention, of something that he’d want to talk about. His friend liked the stars, he gave people entire nicknames based on them. “What- What’s your favorite constellation?”
-
He watched as Odysseus shrugged, and tried not to let his heart break even more. He tried to focus on closing the injuries, scabbing them over. He listened to the numb uncertainty in Garvin’s voice when he answered. “I d’nno. Lots’a ‘em. W-Why?”
-
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his brow furrowing. “You…” He paused, decided to try a different conversation. “Who taught you about the stars?” Apparently, he’d picked the wrong conversation. He watched as Garvin shook his head, whining and crying and— Shit, he’d stumbled onto something. Hadn’t he?
-
“I- I m’ss ‘im. Th’y ha’e me— Th’y sh-shoul’ h’te me.”
-
Gwyar choked on the lump in his throat for a second, and then held onto his friend’s hand. He’d stumbled onto something. He didn’t want Odysseus thinking that. Not right then. Not with a pool of blood surrounding him in a bathtub. “N-No, please. No one— No one hates you. Y-You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
-
Odysseus sobbed, another high-pitched almost-whine hitting the air. He was so pale, shaking and small and maybe even scared. Aries couldn’t breathe for a moment, just listening to the desperation in Garvin’s voice. “‘M s’rry— Ple— Don’ be m’d, I… I d’nno why I…”
-
He choked down his own tears, squeezed his friend’s hands. He was tired of hearing him apologize, not when he knew what they meant. “I’m not mad. No one’s mad. Not at you, not about this.” Garvin was still too pale though. The blood in the tub was too much. There was no way to keep this from everyone else. He had to… Gwyar couldn’t call any professionals himself. He still couldn’t… Being on the phone with one still managed to make him freeze. He’d have to tell someone. Odysseus wouldn’t— His friend needed more help than he could give, he needed actual medical attention. He was too pale, too cold, too distant. “I… You— You lost too much blood. I can’t— I have to call someone. No one’s mad, no one’s going to be mad. Okay?”
-
Gwyar got the reaction he’d expected, if he were being honest. Garvin whined and curled away from him, hands that were slick with blood having no issue slipping out of his grasp as he shook his head repeatedly. Desperate, afraid. He bit his lip, tried to breathe, and tried to keep himself from seeming desperate too. He didn’t think he succeeded. “Garvin, please— I have to. No one will be mad, I promise, just— Please.”
-
For a moment, his friend’s eyes stayed closed and he continued shaking his head, curling in on himself and trying to make himself smaller. Something seemed to click for a second though, and Odysseus nodded. Eyes open and looking at him. Gwyar took a breath, tried to convince himself that was a good sign, even as Garvin leaned away again and closed his eyes.
-
Aries pushed himself to stand, going to grab his phone before he saw the blood staining his own hands. He stared at them for a moment, and then willed the blood to soak his sleeves instead of his hands. Just so he could deal with that later. He had more pressing matters. Odysseus was breathing too shallow, he was too pale, he’d lost so much blood, and the scabbing wasn’t going to help forever, and—
-
Who was he supposed to tell though? Garvin didn’t want his partners to know and Briar was probably still trying to help out over there. All of them would have to know at some point. But right now? Knowing wouldn’t help them. Knowing would make what Briar was trying to do harder. He took a breath. He could call Devery, and he probably wouldn’t mind having to keep this entire thing a secret for a little while either.
-
So he took another breath and took out his phone, finding Devery’s contact as quickly as he could and hitting the call button. He bit his tongue, and hoped that he’d pick up. Gwyar fought the urge to pace, keeping his eyes on Odysseus. Devery picked up a second later.
-
“Aries, hey. Wasn’t expectin' a call. You need somethin'?”
-
He took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic from his voice. “I need— Garvin’s hurt, he needs medical attention. I can’t— I do bad with medical professionals. I— Can you call? Please?”
-
Silence. Some breathing. Devery’s voice came through. “Okay, shit. Okay. Yeah, I can call. What happened? Where’re you two at?”
-
He sucked in another breath. “M-My apartment, the bathroom. He tried to—” A whine broke from his own throat, closing up on him. He winced at a gunshot he knew was only in his mind, squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them immediately, staring at the too pale figure of Odysseus in a bloody bathtub.
-
“Okay, you’re okay. I can guess. You don’t have to say what happened. You’re okay. Stay calm, freaking out won’t help anyone.”
-
Gwyar nodded, tried to take a breath and listen. “I— He doesn’t want his partners to know.”
-
“Is that why you called me?” A breath. “Okay. I won’t tell them. I’m gonna call an ambulance or something, okay? I’ll be on my way over too. He’ll be okay. He’s like… Allergic to actually dying, alright?”
-
He choked back any tears at that, and nodded again. “Okay, yeah, you can— You do that. I’ll… I’ll keep an eye on him while waiting. I— I think he fell asleep. I don’t— He lost so much blood and he kept apologizing, I just—” He took a breath. “Call someone, please.”
-
“I will. I have to hang up to do that though. You gonna be okay if I do?”
-
Aries set his jas, stared at the too still, too pale, too small body of his friend, and nodded. “I’ll survive.”
-
A pause, a deep breath. “Right.” The call ended.
Summer 
Day Weather: 
