11-24-2018, 01:29 AM
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He had never been late before. Not- not too late. Maybe not quite on time as he wanted to be, but help was able to be given, with enough space for him to work and patch what he could to keep them here. Pip wasn't naive, even though he knew some people might attribute that trait to him. Death was inevitable. When he first began sorting through those books, when he found that he had a knack for learning about physiology and medicine, he hadn't thought he would be free from seeing death. If anything, he would be closer to it, especially considering it would be his responsibility to cradle lives that could so easily be lost. So Pip knew that one day he might fail -however much he loathed the thought- that he wouldn't be able to help, that he could arrive too late to do anything for them. That there might not be anything he could do for them at all but make the death less painful, more smooth.
That hadn't prepared him at all.
Recognizing he needed to anticipate the moment and actually experiencing it were two incredibly separate things, and his sister's cry for help -Junji, his former mentor- had led Pip to believe there was the ability to help. That there was a brink he could pull them both from- not that they had already gone over it, and when the young canine rushed inside, satchel heavy at his hip, he stumbled in his shock. Mismatched eyes went wide, face slackening, and the breath stuttered in his throat.
He burst into movement after that heartbeat of stillness, shakily slipping out of his satchel, pressing his paws to necks and chests and noses, checking for pulses, breaths. Nothing. Pip sealed a mouth, counted breaths into a nose and pumped his paws against ribs, attempting to force life back into chilling bodies, but after several minutes -or was it hours?- he slumped back, muscles trembling faintly. His shoulders hunched, and in his ears his blood howled, heart thrashing against the bars.
"I'm so sorry," he said, or thought he said, voice reedy and so thin it wasn't audible. Their- their children. They couldn't hide this from them. His fault.
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That hadn't prepared him at all.
Recognizing he needed to anticipate the moment and actually experiencing it were two incredibly separate things, and his sister's cry for help -Junji, his former mentor- had led Pip to believe there was the ability to help. That there was a brink he could pull them both from- not that they had already gone over it, and when the young canine rushed inside, satchel heavy at his hip, he stumbled in his shock. Mismatched eyes went wide, face slackening, and the breath stuttered in his throat.
He burst into movement after that heartbeat of stillness, shakily slipping out of his satchel, pressing his paws to necks and chests and noses, checking for pulses, breaths. Nothing. Pip sealed a mouth, counted breaths into a nose and pumped his paws against ribs, attempting to force life back into chilling bodies, but after several minutes -or was it hours?- he slumped back, muscles trembling faintly. His shoulders hunched, and in his ears his blood howled, heart thrashing against the bars.
"I'm so sorry," he said, or thought he said, voice reedy and so thin it wasn't audible. Their- their children. They couldn't hide this from them. His fault.
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CAREFUL, SON — YOU GOT DREAMER'S PLANS