Dean Thomas (artisgratia) wrote in pandorarpg, @ 2012-02-11 22:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | !status: complete, ^date: november 15 2003, character: dean thomas |
Coming home
Who: Dean Thomas
What: Getting home and getting help
When: Late Saturday the 15th, after this thread
Where: The Thomas-Finnigan flat and then St. Mungo's.
Rating: Worksafe
Dean stumbled out of the fireplace in the flat he shared with Seamus and quite nearly fell straight to the floor. He hopped on his good foot and clung to the mantle with his left hand, his right arm still dangling uselessly at his side. He tried to call for Seamus but no words came out. He swallowed, nauseated from the pain, and tried again, this time managing a call that would have been loud enough to bring Seamus.
If he were home.
Where was he? He would have been working if it were a normal day, but Dean had been missing. Dean knew Seamus well enough to know there was no way he'd just go to work business as usual if Dean hadn't showed up when he was supposed to and then not come home for a full day. Especially without Mrs. Finnigan. Dean closed his eyes against a fresh wave of pain, physical pain heavily laden with emotional. Did Seamus know yet?
The horrid pain in his arm was spreading and Dean shook where he stood. The next thing he knew he was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, opening his eyes slowly. He had passed out for hours; the pain was that intense. He rolled over, crying out when he saw the condition his arm was in. He hadn't looked at it before and he wished he hadn't seen it now.
It was blackened and covered in shredded skin where the skin even still clung. He saw exposed tendons, muscle...but no bones. They were all gone, ripped out by the witch. He couldn't really feel anything - his arm had been burned so badly that the nerves were mostly destroyed. He pushed himself up to his feet, tearing his eyes away from the useless flesh hanging at his side. He couldn't stand there and think about the loss of the arm. About how he couldn't wield a wand. About how he couldn't paint. He didn't know where Seamus was but he knew that he needed to get to St. Mungo's and get his injuries taken care of, as best they could. Maybe they could contact Seamus for him, tell him where he was.
Assuming Seamus was okay.
Dean shook his head, moving back to the fireplace. Seamus had to be okay. He had to be fine. he just had to be. Dean reached for their floo powder and threw it in left-handed. He fell more than stepped in and barely managed to say St. Mungo's. He barely remembered arriving, barely remembered the suddenly bustle of people around him, getting him into a bed, trying to check vitals and get information from him. But he couldn't answer. For the second time that day, he fell into a merciful blackness.
It was hours later that he woke up, past midnight, to a new kind of horrible pain. They'd given him Skele-gro and he could feel every single bone in his body regrowing. His arm was bandaged, so he couldn't see what it looked like. He didn't know if he should hope. He did know that he couldn't feel anything, and that wasn't a good sign.
A mediwitch popped into the room moments after he woke up and gave him something to drink. After a few minutes he was able to tell her his name and beg her to send an owl to Seamus Finnigan to tell him where he was. It was all he could do. Whatever she'd given him soon dragged him back down into sweet painless sleep and he welcomed it. He needed it.
Maybe when he woke up again, Seamus would be there.