Rainforest (Wattys2017)

Chapter Eight - Victory and Death

Grell lay flat on his back, staring up longingly at the bright sky. Clouds becoming half-melted ice cream being slowly stirred around a bowl. He tried to remember the past few minutes, repeat the events in his head, but he couldn't. He remembered being stabbed. He remembered the blood flowing from his chest and bubbling in his mouth. He didn't remember how he got into the bottom of a bowl though; that was a mystery to the young reaper. William saw Grell and ran over, screaming and extended the long scythe, which felt so natural to wield in battle. It was his scythe. He slit the throat of the agent who stabbed Grell, the action so quick and robotic he hardly had time to realise he'd done it.

He immediately leaned over Grell, pressing their chests together, trying to stem the blood with the fabric of his thick jacket. "Help!" He yelled, digging his nails into his own forearms to keep Grell held as close to him as possible. "Somebody help me! Medic!" He felt the tears prick in his eyes Ashe rested his head tiredly on Grell's shoulder.

"Someone asked for a medic, hm?" William looked incredulously over to Ronald. "Hey, don't look so surprised. I do have some brains you know. I'm trained as a paramedic,"

"I thought that head of yours was just for show," William mumbled to himself, allowed Ronald, in the midst of battle, to begin performing CPR on Grell, while he fended off any attackers within a twenty-foot radius with his adjustable scythe. He could never have been more grateful that Grell was so talented with mechanics.

"Hand me something to stem the bleeding with, a shirt, anything!" Ronald called. William stripped out of his suit jacket which Ronald wrapped tightly around Grell's chest wound. "He's losing blood fast! We have to get him to a hospital!"

William nodded. "I'll fend them off,"

"What?!" Ronald looked incredulously at his superior. "There's no way you can do this alone! You won't survive!"

"I'm isn't my survival I care about," William swung around and pointed the scuttle squarely at Ronald. "Now get him out of here before I slice your head clean off!" Ronald scampered away, clutching Grell bridal-style.

Ronald reached the headquarters where Undertaker and Vincent were wringing their hands nervously. As he slammed open the large, creaking doors the two sprang into action, Vincent again summoning strength that should have been impossible. "There's a hospital just north of here, a few hours walk. It's the best surgical one, the one we took Vincent to," Undertaker explained, grabbing Grell and slinging him on his back. "Knox, you think you could take Vincent? He's lighter than Grell and we need to run for it,"

Vincent had to swallow his pride at being carried; he only allowed Undertaker to carry him, but he didn't want to seem like an ass given their current predicament.

Rushing Grell into the hospital the lights flickered overheard, staff rushing around in nimble white costumes, treating people from around the country. Ronald Knox felt his knees buckle under Vincent's weight while Undertaker seemed to easily swoop past and hand the redhead over to the nurse. He hissed through his teeth, resting Vincent in the first chair he could find. "Knox?" Undertaker asked.

"Yes boss?"

"You still got some power in those legs?" Undertaker grinned. Ronald groaned, knowing that the old man was asking him to run back and tell William Grell was okay.

"Jus...jus lemme get a coffee first," Ronald whimpered, sliding against the wall in an exhausted sleep. Undertaker chuckled and turned to Vincent.

"Will you be okay if I go?"

Vincent scoffed. "I'm in a fucking hospital Taker. Of course I'll be okay,"

Undertaker nodded, swooping his rove over like a veil and running from the Emergency room.

*

Grell's eyes fluttered open, and he saw white. He saw White until a figure appeared, dark with golden light surrounding it. "No!" He screamed, extending his arms. "I'm too young to die!"

"Oh shut it you imbecile. You aren't dead,"

"You sound so familiar..." Grell whispered, until his vision returned and he saw his beloved. "Will!" He shit out of bed, something he shouldn't have done, making the bandages around his chest constrict. "What... happened to me?" He asked as he noticed exactly where he was.

"You got hurt, Grell. Really badly. But Grell, we did it! We won!" He spoke, sounding relieved, yet there was a twinge of something lingering in his voice. Something reluctant and uncertain, a ghost passing through a range of positive emotions, diluting them down so they disappeared into nothing.

"What's wrong?" Grell asked, wearily glancing around the room, not looking for the people that were there, but for the people who weren't. He saw William, Ronald, Vincent, but...
"Where's Undertaker?"

The room fell silent. The only movie was when Vincent pulled himself out his chair with difficulty, shuffling his tires limbs over to the door and leaving the room, without a word and without looking up. Not that his skin-grafted face could really look at anything. William sighed, shuffling nervously under Grell's piercing gaze, his face pulled into an accusatory frown. "Dead," someone stated, but it wasn't William. It was Vincent, leaning against the doorframe. "My boyfriend is dead because you let them find us,"

"Don't blame Grell," William snapped back. "It was me who decided to fight,"

"Great," Vincent rolled his eyes. "Now I can blame both of you. What's that saying, 'victory or death'? Well now I have victory and death,"