file_: backstory excerpt
Dec. 15th, 2013 11:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tothedirtThis was a burning, an ache spreading through the trunk of his body like a dense fog. This was his head against the hard ledge of a gas station roof that had spent the last several hours baking in the sun. This was, he was certain, the feeling of imminent death.
But it wasn’t coming, and they weren’t done yet. He could hear what was left of his squadmates rooting around on the ground below, talking in mildly panicked voices, double checking to make sure the Killjoys they’d burst in on were dead — and making sure they hadn’t called for backup.
Rivera made a noise between a whine and grunt under his mask, trying to command his body to move his arm enough to reach up and pull the uncomfortable hood off. Each new attempt to move came with another wave of pain, though, and after several attempts, he gave up. His body wasn’t listening. He was as good as dead — but he wasn’t dead, at least not yet. He had to let them know, somehow.
“H-hhhey,” he breathed, nowhere near loud enough. Rivera cleared his throat - gasped at the sharp pain the motion caused him - and tried again, louder this time.
“Hey.”
“What was that?” One of the panicked, still-alive Dracs said, alarmed. Rivera couldn’t see him move, but heard him stand, stagger around in a frightened circle in case backup really was coming.
“Nothing,” his other surviving squadmate, a woman, said. “You’re starting to lose it. Help me bag these two.”
“Hey—!”
“That’s not nothing.” The first one scooted a circle again, and Rivera just wished he could lift his head, his arm, something. Weakly, he tried moving his arm again, and it did shift an inch, hit the edge of the roof next to his head.
“Hm — up here.” Rivera gripped the roof ledge and pressed his hand up, lifted his fingers — hopefully they could see from there.
“Help me finish bagging before backup arrives.”
“Hell — Rivera?”
Thank goodness. “Yeah. Come — c’mere.” He swallowed thickly, realizing just then how goddamn thirsty he was.
Down below, he heard one of them move - the first one, he guessed, he couldn’t remember either of their names - but the sound was stopped short.
“No. We don’t have time,” the female Drac said sternly. “We need these in bags before more show up, are you listening to me?”
“But Rivera —“
“He’s dying. It’s too late, now come on.”
Rivera’s blood ran cold. No — he was alive, he was fine. Maybe not fine, but there were ways to heal shots like this, people had been brought back from worse. They couldn’t just leave him here. They couldn’t just call him a casualty, he was right here.
“ No — no, hey,” he tried to call, but it came out as more of a whisper, desperate and quiet. “Please, guys —“
There was a zipping sound down below, followed by silence. Rivera could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could practically hear the sun beating down on the bright white of his clothes.
“Sorry,” the male Drac finally said, and for a second, Rivera almost felt like he could get up, just to give him an extra hole of his very own — but exhaustion won out. Maybe they’d come up here. Maybe —
He heard two car doors slam. No. He heard an engine rumble to life. No. And then, riding on the sound of his terrified heartbeat, he heard the growl of the gas being stepped on, listened as the sound became quieter and quieter until he was sure he was just imagining the distant hum.
Then there was just silence.
But it wasn’t coming, and they weren’t done yet. He could hear what was left of his squadmates rooting around on the ground below, talking in mildly panicked voices, double checking to make sure the Killjoys they’d burst in on were dead — and making sure they hadn’t called for backup.
Rivera made a noise between a whine and grunt under his mask, trying to command his body to move his arm enough to reach up and pull the uncomfortable hood off. Each new attempt to move came with another wave of pain, though, and after several attempts, he gave up. His body wasn’t listening. He was as good as dead — but he wasn’t dead, at least not yet. He had to let them know, somehow.
“H-hhhey,” he breathed, nowhere near loud enough. Rivera cleared his throat - gasped at the sharp pain the motion caused him - and tried again, louder this time.
“Hey.”
“What was that?” One of the panicked, still-alive Dracs said, alarmed. Rivera couldn’t see him move, but heard him stand, stagger around in a frightened circle in case backup really was coming.
“Nothing,” his other surviving squadmate, a woman, said. “You’re starting to lose it. Help me bag these two.”
“Hey—!”
“That’s not nothing.” The first one scooted a circle again, and Rivera just wished he could lift his head, his arm, something. Weakly, he tried moving his arm again, and it did shift an inch, hit the edge of the roof next to his head.
“Hm — up here.” Rivera gripped the roof ledge and pressed his hand up, lifted his fingers — hopefully they could see from there.
“Help me finish bagging before backup arrives.”
“Hell — Rivera?”
Thank goodness. “Yeah. Come — c’mere.” He swallowed thickly, realizing just then how goddamn thirsty he was.
Down below, he heard one of them move - the first one, he guessed, he couldn’t remember either of their names - but the sound was stopped short.
“No. We don’t have time,” the female Drac said sternly. “We need these in bags before more show up, are you listening to me?”
“But Rivera —“
“He’s dying. It’s too late, now come on.”
Rivera’s blood ran cold. No — he was alive, he was fine. Maybe not fine, but there were ways to heal shots like this, people had been brought back from worse. They couldn’t just leave him here. They couldn’t just call him a casualty, he was right here.
“ No — no, hey,” he tried to call, but it came out as more of a whisper, desperate and quiet. “Please, guys —“
There was a zipping sound down below, followed by silence. Rivera could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could practically hear the sun beating down on the bright white of his clothes.
“Sorry,” the male Drac finally said, and for a second, Rivera almost felt like he could get up, just to give him an extra hole of his very own — but exhaustion won out. Maybe they’d come up here. Maybe —
He heard two car doors slam. No. He heard an engine rumble to life. No. And then, riding on the sound of his terrified heartbeat, he heard the growl of the gas being stepped on, listened as the sound became quieter and quieter until he was sure he was just imagining the distant hum.
Then there was just silence.
