trans_9 | Survivalist Plot: All That Scarcity Promotes is Desperate Men and Tyrants

It dimly occurs to Howard that Cedric's much more deft with a blade than he is. Must be all that practice slashing and jaunting around with wands.

But Howard's not going to run. Not for altruistic reasons, but simply because he expects that the noisier target in motion is going to register as prey more quickly. Howard gets slowly to his feet and starts backing up and away, thanking Cedric for his life. And clicking a flare into place in his gun.

He takes stock of their surroundings. Cedric's with his back to the fridge. The window's small enough they could escape, but the monster will rip at least one of them to shreds before they get the chance. Howard moves slowly towards the exit of the kitchen, back to a set of stairs that leads down to what must be a basement.

He takes a good last look at Cedric. At that pretty face full of so much more, resignation and defiance and hope that his life will let Howard get away. Howard swallows. It's just the kid who taught him how to fly on a broom. How non-magic people have a really stupid name. How to throw a snowball.

How to get let down easy.

Howard takes another step back and is about to run away entirely when the monster lunges at Cedric.

The beast moves lightning quick at Cedric, trying to slam him against the wall. It's gaping mouth moves to take a chunk of Cedric's shoulder. It's as if it doesn't even notice the knife.

Cedric's mind is in a weird place. The adrenaline rush has consumed him, urging him onward. There's no room for a survival instinct when there's no chance to survive.

Despite his two lucky escapes so far...well, the rule of threes must be in effect, he thinks. Three's the second-most powerful magic number after seven, after all. Faces flash before his mind one last time: Dad, Mom, his schoolmates, Cho, Harry, Sirius, Remus...and his new friends. Clef, Maxine, Atom, Kaya, and...Howard.

The last person he'd ever expected to like. The person who's been taking care of him despite all odds, staying with him despite his rejection. He only wishes they could've made a few more happy memories. Howard desperately needs some cheering up.

He lunges low, knife aiming for a good sink in the side and sliding around, room for a nice neat fall. Is there a vital organ there? Hopefully. And if he dies face down, Howard won't have to see the worst of it.

"Bye," he grunts. It's all he can think to say.

Howard tries to say something back, but the words aren't coming and the monster's moving and he knows what happens next. He's seen death enough times. That knowledge freezes his feet to the floor and brings his arm up, holding the flare gun.

He didn't want to use it because setting the beast alight would hurt Cedric. Because it might not work. Because either way, it'll draw the monster's attention.

But at the moment, he realizes he doesn't care. The flare gun makes a sputtering sound and fires. The little firecracker-shaped flare hits the monster in the back right as Cedric stabs the creature in the side. A trail of flame shoots up the creature's shoulder. The monster squeals and smacks Cedric aside, almost as if it's incidental, and whirls around, confused by the new threat and attack.

Howard gets enough time to whimper in fear when the monster switches direction and lunges at him in a blind panic. He doesn't get enough time to turn and run. The monster crashes into him and the momentum takes them both tumbling down the stairs.

Into the kitchen comes awful noise, bodies slamming and falling against walls and carpet in the fall down the stairs, wood splintering, the monster screaming and then stopping.

It takes less than a second, and then the only sound is Howard's, gasps and wheezes for breath and moans of pain. He's been spared by sheer luck - during the fall, the monster impaled itself on its own claws. It's two feet away, bleeding out on the basement floor and still smouldering from the shoulder.

But lucky to not be dead isn't saying much. Howard's got a burn on the side of his head and on his side. One arm is bent at a strange angle. And what will concern Cedric most - Howard's not getting up.

Just as suddenly as it came, the reaper sends Cedric away with only a minor burn and some further bruises to show for it. He lands hard against the wall, knocking over what might've been someone's dishware once upon a time. The material of it feels strange against him.

What feels even worse is his memory kicking into high gear. Howard isn't here. He attacked with that flare gun, the monster went after him.

Oh hell.

"Howard! He probably shouldn't yell, but he doesn't care. He sprints down the stairs, jumping over two at a time to see the horror for himself. Please...no, he can't be too late. Howard's not supposed to die here. Cedric is.

With that in mind, he leaps over a pool of monster blood (should he collect that?) and kneels at Howard's side.

"Oh hell. Howard. Howard, are you with me?" He's no medic. What's he going to do? Think, Cedric. Think.

Cedric's alive. Look at that. He saved Cedric. How funny. How stupid.

Howard manages to nod a little, enough to let Cedric know he hears him. The good hand roves around, searching for something to grab, Cedric's hand or shirt or something. Even just these small motions are agonizing.

He can't breathe. Every breath is ragged and flimsy, noisier than it is effective. And if he starts to panic that will make it worse, so he tries to remind himself that he's got enough air to stay conscious. Enough to communicate. Barely. It feels worse than it is.

He tries to think but his mind's swimming. It must be some sort of internal damage, something from the blunt trauma of either falling into the floor or having the monster land on top of him and roll off. Lungs, probably.

"Can't breathe." He keeps trying to keep the panic at bay. If he can talk, he can breathe. If he can talk, he can reassure Cedric, except he can't get that many words out at a time. Except he's not sure if he's just injured or dying. If there's trauma to his insides then he could very well have internal bleeding. "Stay."

He knows Cedric enough by now to know that Cedric won't just leave him, probably even if it's the smart thing to do. But he has to say it anyway.

"I will. Promise. Just a second." Cedric looks critically at Howard's position. It's bad. He needs air in his lungs, he needs help badly.

He crawls, looking for where their belongings might have fallen. Do they still have the...liquid, the gun?

What can be collected from the rubble is picked up, and then Cedric's kneeling above Howard again, trying to work out how to keep him stable. "Call the others?"

With great effort, Howard rolls from his back to his side and shakes his head. No, the others might decide to leave him, payback for the little girl he advocated killing. Or even just out of practicality. Either way, he wouldn't blame them.

The flare gun got dropped along the stairs. The briefcase of blood is still in the kitchen. Cedric's knife remains lodged in the corpse of the beast.

Howard can feel himself getting dizzy. The idea of just passing out right now is so tempting, except for the knowledge that he might never wake up. He tries to think of what must be wrong with him, and what they can do about it with no water, no bandages or medicine, and just Cedric as a medic. Cedric, who hardly knows how to use a toaster because that's usually left to magic.

Cedric's willingness to stay with him is virtuous, but company never fixed organ damage.

Howard sucks in another feeble, raking breath, barely managing to force out the words "Pen. Plastic bag." He has an idea, a desperate and stupid idea that's only worth trying because the alternative is to slowly suffocate.

"Damnit." Cedric hovers close to Howard every second he's not looking around, worrying, wondering. "Stay with me. I know it's hard."

He at least knows that much about concussions, even if he's hesitant at first. When Howard names the items, he doesn't hesitate at all in searching for them, scrambling across the floor and picking up any lost items on the way. The plastic bags are everywhere, that's easy.

The pen is harder---they're those rigid things Muggles use, right? He tests on his wrist for a blot of ink, then returns. "Funny things. We used quills," he calls, a weird fact to keep Howard up. When he's close enough, he gets back to business. "What?"

Howard doesn't dare close his eyes. His vision's already getting blurry, like he's looking through fogged-up glass on a cold day, and he needs to hang on. At least Cedric talking gives him something to focus on, although soon he's past being able to make sense of what Cedric's saying.

No, no, it can't end like this. There's still a chance, and he has to get back home, he has to get back to Orc and someday find out what happened to his parents and he wishes his cats were here.

Focus. Howard twists his working arm at an odd angle to pull his shirt up, or at least, the remains of it that aren't burned. The burn can be dealt with later. Right now he needs to get breathing again.

He points to a part on his side, high up on his torso, under his arm, and makes a stabbing motion with his hand. If he's right, and he has a collapsed lung, he needs to reverse the vacuum so he can fill it again. That means letting the air out. The knife won't do, the incision would be too thin and close up with blood. Has to be a pen.

Knowing Cedric's not going to figure out why Howard wants to get stabbed through with a pen, and not having the breath to explain it, Howard reaches over and takes Cedric's hand. He can't speak anymore but he tries to communicate with his eyes: 'trust me'.

Unfortunately, it's possible he's just communicating complete terror, because that's what he feels right now.

Howard, what is this that you are trying to communicate. Cedric looks down at his pen tip and then at Howard's chest, where Cedric carefully helps him move the cloth aside.

If this situation was devoid of the grim implication, Cedric would think Howard was asking him to stab him hard with a pen. The only problems are that it's not exactly sanitary, that much force is difficult to gather, and it's, oh yes, violently stabbing his already wounded friend.

"Are you serious?" Cedric repeats the gesture with the pen in hand to confirm, stopping just short of the actual stab. There has to be some reason---Howard is definitely not the sort of person to sacrifice himself, though there's a sliver of doubt on that now. Clearly this...thing is supposed to help Howard live, but he can't make sense of it now.

Just a yes or no.

If Howard were in normal health, he'd snap at Cedric right now. He knows Cedric means well, but time is running out and he's scared. The fear's even worse than the physical pain. He doesn't want to die here. He's too young and more than that, he flat-out doesn't want to let go yet. It just may not be his decision.

He nods his head slightly and moves his hand over to make a V-shape with two fingers over his ribs, the only way he can think of to remind Cedric to look out for bone. Thankfully he's pretty skinny, so his ribs are easy to find.

He hopes he's right, although on the morbid plus side, he won't get long to regret it if he's not. He gives Cedric's hand another squeeze and screws his eyes shut.

Cedric understands that look of urgency. Howard needs him to do this in order to live, no matter how gruesome or risky. And there's no way he can ignore such a request in good conscience. Cedric just has a personal aversion to overcome, and fast.

He nods, locating the bone with his hands and positioning the pen between them. The bag is pulled close to fulfill its task, whatever it is, as soon as possible. Cedric wants to close his eyes, to turn away, to shake, but pure determination keeps him from messing up the job.

"I'm sorry." He holds Howard down with one hand, thrusting the pen in with the other. All Cedric needs to do is hold back the shaking and whimpering for a little longer as he tries to deal with the blood. He tentatively pushes the bag toward the wound, making a guess.

Unsurprisingly, being stabbed produces stabbing pain. The little breath left in Howard's chest rushes forth out of his mouth in a weak hiss of anguish.

But then, as Cedric removes the pen, there's air. Sweet, blessed air. Howard doesn't get a good breath in, since he's now swapped difficulty breathing with pain breathing, but it's an adequate amount of oxygen. It burns like he's trying to inhale a mouthful of needles. He tugs the plastic bag out of Cedric's grip and flattens it with his hand over the oozing wound.

Let air out the hole, don't let it back in. Each breath gets a little easier, doing this. Not easy, but easier. Who'd have ever thought he'd miss the ins and outs of oxygen so much. For about a minute Howard just lays there, working the plastic bag with his fingers and taking in breaths.

He's going to have to explain this to Cedric, possibly with a 'good job' tacked on. Cedric looks white as a sheet and like he's only avoiding passing out or crying by the sheer force of will. As for Howard, he's not out of the woods yet. The immediate problem is fixed, but for all he knows he's got greater internal damage, and either way he was just stabbed in the chest by a really unsanitary pen in less than stellar conditions.

"Thanks." His voice is a whispery croak, and then it gives way to feeble coughing that brings up a teaspoon of blood. "Find tape."

"Tape. Got it. Tape." Cedric has a clear goal. That helps. He shakily stands and begins his search, racing here and there and everywhere. Under a big mess, amidst some rubble, he fishes out a meager roll of tape.

He brings it down and starts tearing pieces, holding them over the bag and Howard's wound with a questioning glance. Here?

At least his hands are shaking here and not during the delicate part of the operation.

"Tape down three sides." Howard still feels like he could fall asleep right now. He might have hit his head, he can't remember. He doesn't make any effort to get up off the ground now, and can't envision doing so in the immediate future. Unless Cedric wants to carry him up the stairs, they'll have to spend the night here in the basement with the monster body.

Altogether, though, they've created and correctly worked around a decent sucking chest wound. It's still bleeding a good amount, and Howard's breathing can at best be described as labored, but he can talk again. And stay conscious. These are good things.

If he weren't so dehydrated he'd be crying right now. "That was close. Way too close."

"I've got it." Cedric creates and seals the little pocket exactly as directed, leaning back to eye Howard critically when he's done. The injuries are extensive. Clef and Maxine need to succeed here, they desperately need that help. And they all need to find each other again. But for now, he knows where he has to stay.

"I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispers, pulling their few items close. "Are you cold? Need a drink?"

"Yeah. Cold." And thirsty, naturally, but that's been the default state for enough days in a row that it doesn't register over the pain in his body. Howard dimly wonders if he's cold because he's going into shock, but the more rational explanation is that the basement's just full of cold air and his shirt's been mostly burned off.

He's about to mention disinfecting the burns, but with what? And the arm can be set in a splint tomorrow. Cedric's done a good job but Howard would rather do that himself - at least he has medical training.

Cedric, at least, seems okay, if seriously shaken. That should make Howard happier than it does, but admittedly right now any positive feelings are overwhelmed by envy that Cedric doesn't have to be lying on the floor with broken bones and a hole in his side.

He just wants to go to sleep. He knows full well that he shouldn't, but the idea of letting Cedric wrap him up in a blanket and retreating to that warm, dark world away from pain is tempting. Nevermind that he may have head trauma. Nevermind that if he's got internal bleeding, he could slip away in the night and Cedric would never know what went wrong.

"This hurts." It's not so much a complaint as a joke, so Howard chuckles a little until it turns into a light cough. When he's settled from that he gives Cedric a wink.

That little phrase does something miraculous. It coaxes Cedric's mouth up into something resembling a smile, though the worry never leaves his eyes. They have a long way to go, but Howard's still himself.

"I know. I'll do what I can, promise." He straightens himself out and looks Howard over, inspecting the damage. "Your arm," he frowns. "It can't stay like that."

"I'll fix it in the morning. Help me sit up." He reaches the good arm out to wrap around Cedric's neck and shoulder. He probably could get up if his life depended on it, but since at the moment it doesn't, he doesn't want to push himself any further than he has to.

He tries to flex his hand on the bad arm. Bad idea. He winces and groans.

"Burns dehydrate." He glances over to the briefcase. "And I'm still cold."

And as cranky as he sounds (and is), he still just wants to curl up against Cedric's side and spend the night like that, feeling safe and protected and tended to. He tells himself it's just because Cedric's warm. He can never hope for anything else.

"You're sure that's not too long to wait?" But Cedric obliges. He lowers himself next to Howard for easier reach, securing the arm on his shoulder. When Howard's secure, Cedric lifts them very slowly. He's in no hurry to let go either.

"All right. Here, drink," Cedric offers stretching his leg to catch the handle of the briefcase with his foot. It's pulled close, and Cedric quickly uncaps one of the bottles and holds it up. "Then I should make food the same way you did, huh?"

Howard needs a drink first. And warmth. Cedric's staying close for a while, but he's slowly working on a better solution for that.

"Doesn't matter. If I get back to Stacy we can fix it all the way there." And if they don't...well, Howard won't finish that thought. He knows what will happen. Between the conditions here and the shape he's in, if they don't get back to the ship soon he's a dead kid. He can't defend himself and unless he finds an outright vat of antibacterials and antibiotics, he'll be suffering whatever infection laid the little girl low in a matter of days.

He all but guzzles the drink down when Cedric offers it. He's thirstier than he thought. "Yeah. Find a way to cook it so it doesn't just go bad. Figure out if the fridge upstairs is working. And sop up the blood from that guy there and wring it into a bottle or something. We might need to stay here a while."

He's shivering a little. He starts to rip a strip off the hem of his pants to make a bandage to start to cover the burns. It won't help with the major problem of sanitation, but it'll keep them from sight, and it'll give Cedric the illusion that Howard's doing something.

"But stay here for a few minutes, if you don't mind?" He reaches over and squeezes Cedric's hand again. "Thanks for saving my life. Never do it again."

Cedric forms his mental list of things to do. Take care of the meat, collect...liquid, care for Howard, with the last item being the first priority. It's certainly easier to fixate on what he can do than what he can't, and it's his job to hold out hope that they'll make it.

He just has to carry Howard out and pray Maxine and Clef got their signal.

"I can't promise that I won't," Cedric whispers. He cares too much. For instance, now he sees that an already cold and injured Howard is further damaging his clothes. That won't do.

"Wait, don't. You're cold enough." Cedric pulls back slightly, pulling off his own shirt. It's not perfect, but there's more intact cloth to use. He makes quick work of what remains of the long sleeves, holding them out to Howard.

You know, whenever Howard may or may not picture Cedric shirtless, it's really never in these circumstances. Howard shoots Cedric a peevish look as gratitude for the sudden new heap of awkward that has befallen them both.

"Or you could have seen if there are curtains upstairs instead of stripping down." The snideness in his voice is covered a little bit by another cough that works its way up his body. It's a strange position for him, to be the one tended to and not the one doing the caretaking, and he certainly doesn't like it. He feels defenseless and that means that he's expecting death any moment now, and compounded on the pain he's in, it's made his temperament particularly volatile. Not that he isn't extremely grateful, but as Cedric knows, Howard's not exactly amiable on the best of days.

Mostly, it's the knowledge that he'll have to rely on Cedric that scares him. On the one hand, Cedric won't abandon him like Diana would (probably - he still isn't sure he trusts Cedric to stay by his side). On the other, Cedric also will hesitate before doing what needs to be done in these sorts of circumstances, or not realize what he needs to do entirely. And that's terrifying.

They're a strange team, the two of them. Strange friendship first of all, but an even stranger team.

Cedric shakes his head. "If we find that much cloth, it's going to be your blanket. And I didn't want to go too far right away."

He pulls the shirt back on for the present, worrying about many of the same things. This situation is totally overwhelming for him. Howard's always in control here. He knows how to find food and water, how to avoid being caught, how to survive less than ideal conditions, and all about medicine. Cedric...doesn't. But he has to become competent, and fast.

"I'll get all this, then the blanket-curtain. Thing." he decides, eying their decomposing friend. He crawls over with the already empty bottle in hand, using it to collect their awful drink before the pool runs dry.

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