The Funambulist

Chapter 3: Fly Away

Happy holidays, everyone! Now, I should mention that there is some description of blood and suffering in this chapter, so if that's not something you want to read about, I suggest you maybe skip over certain parts. And, as per usual, feel free to leave a comment below telling me what you think - your comments honestly make my day so thank you :) [ & you're welcome to click play on the video for music accompaniment]     

I dedicated this chapter to penkatonix because she has been SO supportive and kind on Twitter - you never ceased to send positive encouragement my way during my hiatus <3 this one is for you kat ilysm          

Scott would have liked to say that the fall was beautiful.

That somehow, despite the tragic nature of the event that was occurring before him, Swan remained as elegant and polished as he appeared to be for the first few minutes of his act. That he would somehow have some sort of safety mechanism attached to his costume, or he would dive into a net that Scott couldn't see. But, like in the real world, disasters remained as nothing but what they were: tragic.

He felt his body turn to ice as he watched Swan plummet 50 feet, limbs stretched in attempt to latch onto something, anything, to break his fall. It was nothing like what Scott saw in movies. He looked like he was drowning, though there was absolutely nothing below him to slow the terrible and painful process; Swan was a ragdoll. A part of him still desperately hoped that this was part of the act – that he was just a very, very good actor. But the moment he saw the boy smack hard against the cold floor, everything became all too real.

A thick and congealed feeling of dread formed in Scott's throat as he could do nothing but stare at the crumpled, unmoving body of the boy he was sure he once knew. Scott couldn't breathe. He wanted to scream, to yell for someone to get up and do something, but it appeared that everyone was being suffocated by the same flavour of remorse in the air.

It wasn't until Kirstin let out the most spine-tingling shriek, having recovered by the initial shock, that more and more people began to react. In a frenzy, he heard more ear-splitting wails, the sight of mothers shielding the innocent eyes of their children. Scott felt something similar to adrenaline bubble in his stomach, his body overcoming the cold feeling of paralysis that he felt just moments before. He unsteadily leaped to his feet, hand gripped against the armrest, as he felt words begin to roll over his tongue. "I'm a doctor!"

Kirstin's head whipped in his direction. "What are you doing?"

Scott ignored her question and began blindly racing towards the stage, promptly shoving past the numerous people in his way. His chest was heaving - he had no idea what he was thinking. How could he possibly help at all? He was a goddamn vet – for all he knew, he could be worsening the whole situation.

He halted unsteadily in front of the bodyguard. "Please let me through. I'm a medical professional."

"Sir, I'm afraid that I can't do that."

"He needs help." Scott continued breathing raggedly, though he tried to keep his temper at bay. "I work at a clinic in Arlington–"

"Steve. Let him through." Scott looked up to see the figure of the ringmaster, the man looking visibly shaken. "Please."

The bodyguard stepped aside, and Scott raced up the stairs without further consideration. He evaded the frantic gaze of the ringmaster, opting to just quickly race into action to avoid confrontation. Please be alive.

The first thing he noticed was the sight of Swan's small chest rising and falling unevenly, instantly alleviating Scott's initial worries. His small success was short-lived, however; as his eyes trailed down the boy's body he noticed the irregular bend of his left leg, and the small trickle of blood from the back of his head. His eyes were wide-open, face frozen in shock as he gazed at nothing in particular above him.