Fabricated Chapter 6

[companionwolf]

 All at once, Pillow Central is no longer on the side of the road beside a car crash.

Instead, he is staggering in what he thinks is a bathroom from the white tiles and the black linoleum sink on one wall, blinking green light from his eyes. He steadies himself with the wall, finds he is panting. With one hand that shakes more then it should he reaches over and pushes the door lock to its ‘locked’ position. 

How lucky this is a single occupant bathroom. 

He moves the hand back to feel under his layers and down across body, his true body, and locates where the bullet went through. It’s a clean hole through his right hip; he can wiggle a finger in it, and that hurts more then it should, so he stops.

He slides the backpack off and sits, takes out Alice and Espeon, both of whom immediately start peppering him with questions which he ignores as he pulls out the sewing kit. He tries to thread the needle, misses.

“Central.”

He tries again, misses.

“Hey, we’re talking to you, dude!” 

Again, another miss. He is suddenly struck with how exhausted he feels. 

“Bradford, we are concerned.”

He looks over at them. There’s a rip in Espeon’s ear, probably from the flying glass. He glances back at his sewing kit- there’s dark purple, which will have to work.

“John.”

The name so rarely used shocks him to his senses. “Alice?”

She waves a small paw at the bathroom around them, her painted eyes more rounded then usual, a expression of worry and... he has never seen her look so scared before.

“John, what have you done?” 

It is not accusatory, but something in him feels guilt anyway.

“I’m not sure I follow,” he says.

“This is not our car,” she says. “Nor is it the street sidewalk. This is a bathroom. How did we get here.”

He has a choice, he realizes. They were in the backpack. They didn’t suddenly loose their sight to green vibrancy, didn’t suddenly just exist in this space. 

“Calm down,” he says, and hopes his voice is laid back enough to hide the shaking it must have, “I just walked.”

Alice frowns but says nothing; Espeon lashes her tail. “You’re a shitty driver,” she says.

“I was a bit distracted,” he says, and winces as he begins in earnest the process of stitching his wound.  Espeon jumps up onto his leg to peer closer.

“How will you do the back?” she asks.

“Not sure,” he says.

“I can attempt,” Alice says, “but I lack the nuance of fingers so perhaps...” She twitches her ears. “Maybe it is best I do not try after all.”

“One side will have to do for now,” he says, as he ties off the now closed seam; the scoots shake in his hands as he cuts the thread, and the shakes don’t stop as switches thread colors and then gently cups Espeon’s face with his free hand. “I’m gonna fix your ear.” 

“Oh,” says Espeon. “Ok.”

“So hold still. And don’t shout.”

“I’m not gonna—!” Her words break off into a yell as he begins to sew. He stops and glares.

“It hurt,” she says.”

“I know,” he answers. “Just give me a few more moments.”

It’s over in a few short seconds, and then he puts away the kit into the backpack before putting it on. With Alice in one hand and Espeon in the other he stands up. 

“Now what?” Espeon asks. “Our car’s bust.”

“Awakening will provide,” Alice says. 

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy,” Pillow Central says. Faintly beyond the door he can hear music, and people, and he isn’t quite sure what out there. 

All he really knows is what a dorm sounds like. Well, that and a Target. Everything else has been stories, and so many human things fit ‘people and music’. 

He puts Alice and Espeon into the hoodie pocket, each poking out slightly from either end. Espeon looks up at him. “Does it still hurt?” she asks.

(There should be blood. He should be dead.)

“Yes,” he answers, and leaves through the bathroom door.