2020-02-10 - Drown

The card is turned up: a roaring river, no banks in sight, no trees or plants hanging down to grab, a waterfall coming up fast. August tries to swim, but the water's too cold, moving too fast. It's like no river he's ever been in, not in all his life.

He thrashes, despite some small corner of his mind warning him not too, reaches for the shaping Art to make himself swim.

Nothing. He's going to drown. He's never going to see Eleanor again, or his family, or--

That log hits Itzhak in the head, sending him under, and August's panic transmutes into pure denial. He dives under after him. This isn't happening. He's not letting it.

Itzhak's Song spins itself up, his will trying to enforce itself on the water. But he takes the log to the head with an awful thunk and he just sinks, instantly knocked out. Water pours up his nose and down his windpipe and the wicked undercurrents pull him down like the riptides of his own soul and everything is dark. Everything. The river tumbles him along like a maple seed, swooshing and snarling its way towards the thunder of the waterfall, the suction of gravity inhaling both men.

August has no hope of reaching Itzhak, not in this water. But maybe his Art can. He's done it before, grabbed clothes to drag someone to him, and he can sense Itzhak's wound: his bleeding head, the concussion. He finds that, grabs Itzhak's shirt, pants boots, socks--the whole nine yards. It's going to be uncomfortable as hell, but luckily enough, Itzhak's not awake to feel it happen. He gets hold of Itzhak, wraps an arm around his chest.

And over the waterfall they go.

Itzhak wakes up at the absolute worst possible moment. Express elevator to hell, going down. He comes alive in August's grip just as the water flings them over the cliff, panicking and thrashing (but hey, also luckily, August's grip on his clothes holds him mostly still) aaaaand

whump

They land in snow and mud, beside the road into town. Itzhak promptly starts throwing up great gouts of water.

August grunts as they land in the mud and snow. Luckily enough, no one is there to witness their ignominious arrival from that Dream. He would help Itzhak get the water out, but he finds he can barely move.

Everything hurts. Everything. It's like he's 22 just waking up in the hospital for the first time all over again. His back, his leg, his shoulder. Christ, he hopes he didn't dislocate it.

Eventually he manages to crawl to his knees and help Itzhak get his lungs clear by holding him steady. No serious injuries... Nothing that can't keep. Okay. They're alive. Thank Christ they're alive.

Itzhak retches miserably, until he finally runs dry. Gasping for breath, arms wrapped around his middle, he stays there on his knees, half of him with a fetching icy-mud coating. His scalp's split, blood freezing into his hair.

His voice is only a hoarse rasp when he gets out, "This...fuckin'....sucks."

August can't help it, he starts laughing, half-hearted and pained. A twinge in his back makes him stop. "Fucking right it does," he says on a gasp. He reaches toward's Itzhak's head, stops short. "How's your--" He taps at one of his own ears.

Almost as an after thought he pulls out his phone, hands trembling. He shoots off a text to Eleanor. "We'll see if...Ellie...can come get us."

"Why you gotta...laugh at...my pain, Roen." Well, if Itzhak's complaining, he's probably good enough for government work. He shakes his head, but stops doing that really fast. "Ah fuck. I dunno. Everything hurts. Dizzy as hell." But when he squints at August, both his pupils are the same size, at least. "Fucking. Them. Assholes."

"Look it's laugh or cry and...I did..." August shifts and just sits there, in the mud and snow, freezing half to death. "I did so much crying in my 20s. And yesterday. I'm...I'm really cried out. For at least a...week." He squints at Itzhak, reassuring himself with his Art what his eyes can't be sure of. Yeah. Okay. No need to go to the hospital.

His coat pocket pings. He glances at the phone, swipes back a simple reply. "She'll...be here in a few." The others don't seem to be around--did they head off to the hospital already? Did they get stuck in there? God, what if they're dead inside that construct?

No. There. ...footprints. Tracks, leading towards downtown. Or the hospital. So--someone made it out. "Fuck Them," he agrees, voice hoarse. "Stupid shitbags."

Itzhak shuffles over, on his knees, and winds his long arms around August. He's shivering with overload and cold and pain, so he does this limpingly and with care. Muddy wet icy-cold hugs from a shaking Jewish fiddler, you're welcome August. "Fuck crying, too. Oy vey izt mir, I'm gonna be so mad if we survived that just to die of hypothermia, Roen."

"Fuck crying." August has seldom agreed with anything more in his life. "You're not gonna die of...hypothermia." Ostensibly, neither is he. He wraps an arm around Itzhak, pulls him in close. He's aware that he's shaking and cold, but the pain from the bruises and cuts is so intense, he almost can't feel anything through the wall of Everything. His mind doesn't know which hurts to process; it's all static.

He tries to focus on something. Stay awake. "I think I'm getting stronger again."

"Stronger how? Stronger how?" Itzhak huddles in, smelling like mud and snow and the water of a river from the Other Side. "Tell me. Keep talkin'. Everything feels weird. Them crows, now this. I hear something coming and I dunno what it is and it's drivin' me bugfuck."

August laughs at the implication. "Like Finch. Like...Lilith. Have you...no. Right. They're s-strong. Like you. I don't if...if s-someone can be stronger than they are, at-t shaping." He pauses, wills his teeth to not chatter. He refuses to sound like that, dying of hypothermia or not. "I was out, feeding the animals, and...the trees..." He falls quiet a second, expression distant. "I've never been able to feel them beyond a certain...way. I can feel them, and m-make them grow." He swallows. "Cut them. B-but not...move them. For a second, I thought maybe I could."

"J-j-jesus." Itzhak tries to cuss but it loses some impact when the word gets shattered into stuttering between his teeth. "You and Alexander. This is fffuckin' terrifying. I hope to God I'm n-not next." Oh, but he is next. Itzhak and the entire world are next.

Oh God yes, August is terrified. He nods, miserable, swallows. "I don't w-want to be...stronger." He sounds mopey in his own ears, and that bothers him on one level, but on another, he's sick and tired of this, this thing he never asked for.

Except...without it, he wouldn't have met Eleanor. And he wouldn't be here, at all, so he wouldn't know Itzhak, or Ignacio, or Alexander, or Finch--the list went on.

He gives Itzhak a sidelong look. "Like sure knows h-how to...stick it-t in and, break it off, huh."

"Hey. It's gonna be okay, baby." Itzhak mumbles into August's shoulder, rocking back and forth a little. His voice sounds like he's been gargling with gravel, but he starts singing. Rough and tattered and there's no voice left for him to find a key with, but he's singing, barely audible. "Don't worry...about a thing...'cuz everyliddlething...is gonna be all right..."

"Oh...I like that one," August murmurs, rocking with Itzhak. His voice is equally a mess; hoarse, and with next to no real practice singing, ridiculously off-tune given their current situation. "Baby don't w-worry, 'bout a thing..."

"I th-thought...I was gonna d-die in there. B-before..." He sighs, shakes his head, resumes singing. Think about that later. "Ev-very little thing's, gonna be all right..."

Itzhak hums the melody, or tries to, at least. Sounds like a wax cylinder recording--one that melted, maybe. "Rise up this morning...smiled with the risin' sun...three little birds perch by my doorstep...singin' sweet songs...this is my message to you-oo-ooo." Then he coughs into the damp fabric of August's jacket. Groaning, he mutters, "Let Fincheleh help you."

August waves a hand. "N-no. I'll be fine. Now that we're n-not, drowning." He clears his throat, coughs. "In a f-fucking river." He laughs, rubbing at his eyes. "God, this-s place."

He falls quiet, listening to Itzhak sing. It goes on long enough that there might be a cause for concern, except he suddenly turns to look over his shoulder. True to her word, there's Eleanor's Honda Element. But now comes the insurmountable task of getting to it. It's not far away, not by any means, but it in their current condition it might as well be a hundred miles.

But there's a heater in that car, and at the end of a short drive, a hot bath and tea. "Our ch-chariot, arrives."

"Don't argue with me, old man," Itzhak groans. When August falls silent, though, he nudges him, hard. "Okay, do argue with me, just k-keep talking. Sing with me. C'mon. Don't worry...about a thing..."

The sound of Eleanor's Honda may as well be fanfare for a cavalry. Itzhak huffs through his teeth. Then, painfully, he clambers to his feet, trying to haul August along with him. "Come on, pal. On ya feet. We lived another fuckin' day. Yay us."

Reluctantly, August resumes singing. Stay awake, stay awake until he can get warm. That's the rule. Remember the rule. "Cause every, l-little thing's, g-gonna be all right now..."

He groans as Itzhak hauls him up, tries to do as much as he can to help. The problem with huddling there is its made him stiff, in addition to the problems they already have. But there's Eleanor, her coppery hair bright against this dull, winter landscape.

"Another, f-fucking, d-day." He loops an arm around Itzhak's waist, rests his head against his. "They better watch out. We're comin' for 'Em."