The air crackles with static, nerves tingling. His gaze makes a quick sweep across the room he’s no more than a few paces in, soaking in information. No vents (good); a set of doors opposite them, which meant they weren’t trapped; a cluster of crates, metal barrels, some blinking machinery. He half-turns back, sweat crawling ticklishly down his sides.
“Clem!!”
For the breathless split second he’s left waiting for her – a time that seems to stretch an eternity – his brain is suddenly overrun by a noisy, vivid images of the creature catching up, the creature slamming her to the floor and tearing screaming, bleeding, too-red chunks out of her. A cold sickness roils in his gut, lingering even as she hurries in and the doors are jammed shut behind her.
Luke crouches by a corner, easing Nick off his shoulders and onto the floor before hurrying to help block off the way they came. The crates feel like they’re loaded with cinderblocks - too heavy to lift and stack without straining something or other in the process, he figures - so they make do with shoving several flush against the door as fast as adrenaline-fueled bursts of strength allow. The effort leaves him panting softly, fresh beads of sweat gathering at his temples.
“Okay-- okay, I think that’ll hold,” ‘But we probably shouldn’t stick around too long to find out’ is what’s implied and left unsaid as Luke looks away and turns his attention back to Nick, moving to his side. Kneeling, he takes him gently by the shoulder and gives him a shake.
“Nick—“ He tries while briefly looking him over, his voice low, urging. “Nick, c’mon. We--”
The rest dies in his throat as his thoughts come to a sudden, screeching halt, crashing together. Nick’s body is all too still – a realization that doesn’t quite click until he thinks to bring the back of his hand to Nick’s lips and waits to feel the heat of his breath lap his knuckles. He feels like his own breath is being crushed out of him when nothing comes.
"Oh Christ...” He gasps out. Icy tendrils of fear snake, plunging into the hollow of his chest. Stunned, he presses fingers into Nick’s throat under the hinge of his jaw, only mildly reassured by the presence of a pulse. Thready, but there. He doesn’t waste another second trying to guess at how many minutes have passed since Nick had collapsed.
It comes back to him - first aid training for his stint as a summer camp volunteer and, more recently, the brief refresher Carlos had provided - and muscle memory kicks in. He watches himself pinch Nick’s nose shut, tilting his head back and chin up with an unexpected, confident steadiness and to his hands. Pulling in a breath, he then ducks to press his mouth to Nick’s and forces air into his lungs.
Once.
Twice.
He glances tensely to Nick’s chest after the second, watching it deflate. It doesn't rise.
Fuck.
He shares another breath - and then another and another and another, fighting to tamp down the panic trying to rise into his throat and pretend this was just another training dummy. Not his best friend lying motionless and edging ever closer to that place of irreversible brain damage.
no subject
“Clem!!”
For the breathless split second he’s left waiting for her – a time that seems to stretch an eternity – his brain is suddenly overrun by a noisy, vivid images of the creature catching up, the creature slamming her to the floor and tearing screaming, bleeding, too-red chunks out of her. A cold sickness roils in his gut, lingering even as she hurries in and the doors are jammed shut behind her.
Luke crouches by a corner, easing Nick off his shoulders and onto the floor before hurrying to help block off the way they came. The crates feel like they’re loaded with cinderblocks - too heavy to lift and stack without straining something or other in the process, he figures - so they make do with shoving several flush against the door as fast as adrenaline-fueled bursts of strength allow. The effort leaves him panting softly, fresh beads of sweat gathering at his temples.
“Okay-- okay, I think that’ll hold,” ‘But we probably shouldn’t stick around too long to find out’ is what’s implied and left unsaid as Luke looks away and turns his attention back to Nick, moving to his side. Kneeling, he takes him gently by the shoulder and gives him a shake.
“Nick—“ He tries while briefly looking him over, his voice low, urging. “Nick, c’mon. We--”
The rest dies in his throat as his thoughts come to a sudden, screeching halt, crashing together. Nick’s body is all too still – a realization that doesn’t quite click until he thinks to bring the back of his hand to Nick’s lips and waits to feel the heat of his breath lap his knuckles. He feels like his own breath is being crushed out of him when nothing comes.
"Oh Christ...” He gasps out. Icy tendrils of fear snake, plunging into the hollow of his chest. Stunned, he presses fingers into Nick’s throat under the hinge of his jaw, only mildly reassured by the presence of a pulse. Thready, but there. He doesn’t waste another second trying to guess at how many minutes have passed since Nick had collapsed.
It comes back to him - first aid training for his stint as a summer camp volunteer and, more recently, the brief refresher Carlos had provided - and muscle memory kicks in. He watches himself pinch Nick’s nose shut, tilting his head back and chin up with an unexpected, confident steadiness and to his hands. Pulling in a breath, he then ducks to press his mouth to Nick’s and forces air into his lungs.
Once.
Twice.
He glances tensely to Nick’s chest after the second, watching it deflate. It doesn't rise.
Fuck.
He shares another breath - and then another and another and another, fighting to tamp down the panic trying to rise into his throat and pretend this was just another training dummy. Not his best friend lying motionless and edging ever closer to that place of irreversible brain damage.
C'mon, don' do this to me, man--