when tragedy strikes ☾ shirbert

chapter 07: oh, doctor (part 1)

a/n: hi, i haven't updated since june! if anybody is around, enjoy the chapter, next is in the works.

(if you need a little refresher of what happened, feel free to scroll and reread/skim)

try not to be a silent reader, i love your comments!

TW:
(MILD) GRAPHIC WORD CHOICE/DESCRIPTIONS

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The sudden boulder-like fear straining on Anne's heart knocked away any ounce of tiredness the very moment Gilbert Blythe plummeted to the ground.

Younger, she encountered plenty of mortifying shrieks and bellows of pain, both in and out of the orphanage. During her time in the system, there were many periods of numb boredom, caused by her books being thrown to fire. Besides being relentlessly taunted, she had nothing to do. The hours of endless silence drew Anne into reflection (whether she liked it or not), and although the happier moments were favorable to remember, counting them would only require one hand. It was easy for the worst times to bleed through. Out of the many she'd like to forget, first place consisted of a grubby man, a thick leather belt, and a deep cobble well.

Gilbert's thud as he hit the dirt, which was only half as scary as the groan afterward, would be a close runner-up.

She hollered his name into passing dust as the delicately made book dropped from her hands and into the hay. Sprinting toward his fallen figure, a mangled, limp, mess grew closer in view. Dropping to her knees beside his chest, Anne took in what she was seeing, shock shaking her body. The boy had a tight grip on his dirtied curls, his eyelids squeezed shut, and a sound of utter agony bleeding from his mouth.

A part of her was relieved for that horrible sound, thankful he wasn't unconscious. Grinding his teeth, Gilbert failed to harness another scream. This knocked some sense into Anne, that her stiff stare is only making matters worse. Leaning forward, the ends of her orange hair brushed the side of his face, as she now saw exactly why Gilbert was in so much pain.

It was almost similar to one of Billy's tragedies, who tore down their story club a couple of months ago. In the pile of his destruction laid Cole's dismembered clay figurines, which now resembled Gilbert's right (possibly left) leg. Abnormally bent, disproportionally angled, broken. Anne nearly stopped breathing at the sight of a round bulge protruding at his ankle, likely to be his bone.

"Gilbert-" Anne finally got out, her hand wavering over the boy's shoulder, ripped sleeve exposing his balmy skin. "Do you hear me?"

There was no response aside from the continuation of groaning, and Anne knew her question was merely an additional thing for Gilbert to struggle with. Moving on from his ability to answer, she racked her mind for an actual solution.

Matthew and Marilla were too much of a risk- Anne recalls them speaking of a trip to gather paint supplies with Mrs.Barry today, and even if they hadn't left yet, the possibility of finding the house empty remained. She also couldn't rely on the man who went to get his toolbox, since he left, he'd be nearing the Blythe residence by now.

Roughly, nobody was set to arrive for another half hour. Minimum.

"Can you p-" Another groan disrupted her sentence, as Gilbert continued over-exerting his body to remain the most responsive. "-just say a-any, any word.."