Re: [No. 22 -> No. 8: Hunter R & Cris M] Sinkhole. His brain told him it was a sinkhole. But, like the fence that forced itself into his reality—like the ghosts and the time-travelers—, he eventually came to see it for what it really was, even if it created more dissonance in his understandinga the world around him than he knew what to do with. The mud he had seen, shorn grass around it as if torn by feet, gave way to a blackness that yawned wide, cold and empty. It woulda made him dizzy, just the vertigo, but he didn't have time for that. Cris was trying to heave Hunter back from the moutha the earth as his mind worked on the discord.
"You can, you can—" Urging, reassuring, encouraging, all tight in his throat, trying. The guy's mouth was dry and his tongue was starting to feel thick, almost cold. But, he didn't have time for shock either. He tried to inch that lifeline sleeve closer to the kid.
He lost him. The film skipped again and Hunter was tipping backward in—in nothing, falling, and, with the brutal claritya terror, Cris knew there was no bottom to that hole. He lost him. His heart felt choked and he was yanked forward, onto his knees by a hundred plus poundsa weight catching the sleeve. The knot he'd tied with that scarf did nothing to cushion that fall. It felt like somebody bludgeoned his kneecap with a bat and he swore through clenched teeth, shaking with exertion as he tried to wrap brown wool around his palm, like a boxer before the bag. (And wouldn't this all be that much easier if he could just punch the hole and that was that?)
In a detached sorta way, Cris was aware nonsense was slipping in through cracks in his calm. The world was jumbled and nothing seemed impossible. He still didn't have no time for that. He prayed, huh? He did. He was mouthing words, and he hauled. Moving with bone-grating difficulty, he got onto his ass, heels dug the fuck in, and he heaved. He didn't scream. There was no wide, white panic on his face. It was just pure fucking determination beneath a sheena sweat as every fucking muscle he had strained.
It felt like an eternity, just pulling and pulling and pulling until he was nothing but the actiona his hands moving over each other, almost soothing in repetition. But the toppa Hunter's head crested into his vision, forcing him to focus sharp, and he landed back in his own body with a physical thud reverberating through his bones. He kept pulling. He wasn't gonna lose nobody and he'd fight Fate on that count, with teeth and nails and dirty fighting, he'd win out through sheer stubbornness if he had to.