Page 73 of Runaway Magic
“I think so,” Cym said quickly to avoid seeing what Fourteen would do if pushed. Flying bits of metal going in every direction wouldn’t do anyone favors right now.
Tucking his injured arm against his side, Cym leaned heavily on his good arm and pushed himself forward. He sucked in a sharp breath when his ankle let him know it was incredibly put out about how the evening had gone so far.
Fourteen backed up to give him room but remained close enough to hover protectively. When Cym was out, Fourteen looked him over, going quieter and more distant as he saw the extent of his injuries. Fourteen’s gloved hands were gentle as they patched up the worst of the damage, but the terrible blankness that had settled on his face sent chills down Cym’s spine. He had fallen back into his conditioning again, and it was breaking Cym’s heart.
When Fourteen finally spoke, it was in the robotic voice Cym had grown to fear. “You’ve dislocated your shoulder. I’m going to pop it back now before it gets too swollen.” He stated it like a fact, leaving no room for discussion.
Fourteen was going to fix Cym’s arm whether he liked it or not.
Part of Cym wished that Fourteen had just done it without asking. Anticipation of pain was far worse than it happening in the heat of the moment.
“O-okay,” Cym croaked through dry lips.
“Lie on your back,” Fourteen ordered. He cleared a table with a sweep of his arm and gestured for Cym to lay on it.
Cym complied, shaking with fear and hating himself for how weak it made him look.
“This is going to hurt.”
“No fucking shit,” Cym said through gritted teeth.
Cym kept his eyes fixed on Fourteen’s face. His features were stone as he took Cym’s injured arm and pulled on it slowly,creating traction. Cym tried and failed to hold back a whimper of pain as Fourteen increased the pressure. Sweat broke out on his skin, and Cym started panting.
He tried to keep eye contact with Fourteen. If Cym could only keep looking into Fourteen’s cold, storm-cloud eyes, maybe some of that cold would seep into Cym and numb the pain.
Fourteen turned Cym’s arm slightly, and the resulting pain changed his panting into short mewling sounds of agony.
“Breathe.” Fourteen’s gaze held Cym’s and hints of his personality broke through his conditioning, telling Cym without words that Fourteen knew he could bear it. That Fourteen knew he could do anything.
A sharp pop was accompanied by an immediate sense of relief. A gray fog settled over Cym’s vision and he welcomed it. He was so done with being in pain.
“Hey, it’s okay… it’s over now. I’ve got you.”
The world came back into focus, and he found himself on Fourteen’s lap with a gloved hand stroking his cheek.
“Well, you said it was going to hurt,” Cym managed shakily.
“You did just fine,” Fourteen assured him, running a hand over his hair soothingly.
Cym tucked his face into Fourteen’s jacket and breathed in the rich smell of leather and Fourteen’s own unique, intoxicating scent. It didn’t clear Cym’s head, but his breathing steadied, and he relaxed a little.
It was pretty nice, actually. Especially since he was getting to cuddle Fourteen guilt-free. Anyone in Cym’s situation right now should be getting at least a little affection.
“I’m sorry, Cymbeline.” Sterling’s voice broke in on his reverie. “I know you’ve been through a lot tonight, but we have to get out of here now, while everyone is busy with the fire. Can you hold it together for a little bit longer?”
Before he could answer, Fourteen said, “I need to tie his arm down first, or it will only get injured further.
“How about his foot? It looks pretty nasty. Is he going to be able to walk on it?”
“I’ll be fine—” Cym began but was cut off when Fourteen’s face went even colder.
The atmosphere in the room turned glacial as Fourteen shifted Cym out of his lap and examined his injured foot. The chill radiating from Fourteen had Cym cringing in anticipation. Had he broken his ankle? Had his idiocy ruined it beyond repair? Would they leave Cym behind if he couldn’t walk?
Fourteen made an indecipherable noise and then ripped off a piece of Cym’s yoga pants to wrap his ankle. “It looks worse than it is, but it won’t be fun to walk on.” Fourteen appropriated a length of rope hanging from the wall and began to carefully bind Cym’s arm to his side. “Cym, I need you to try to walk on it even if it hurts. Hold onto my jacket if you need to, but I need my hands free if I’m going to get us out of here.”
Affronted at being talked to like a child, Cym’s anxiety fled as he lost his temper. “I’m not a china doll; I can keep up. I managed to survive for weeks before I met you!”
Cym conveniently ignored that he was shoeless, half-starved, and freezing when they met, and the frigid silence Fourteen gave him in response told Cym he was thinking the same thing.
