Supply Run [Sohl/Fao]

[qhostqrowls]

Faolan nudged the supply room doors open with a shoulder, focused intently on  balancing the precariously stacked files he held. He was only an hour into his shift, which had been blessedly free of emergency calls or re-scheduled surgeries. It gave him time to organise his ever-growing stack of paperwork and refill the scarce supplies of his office.

The surgeon slid the files onto the nearest shelf, pulling out his phone to check his alphabeticalised list.

A recent delivery had the stockroom overflowing, and though there was no real need for him to refill, it gave him some room to breathe. A few quiet moments in a work day that never stayed serene for long. He hadn't been in the mood to socialise as much recently - no WDSA employee seemed to be. Everyone was overworked and stressed, and the general sense of tension permeating the building seemed to grow thicker by the day.

[MP]

As the doctor's foot came down, something slipped underfoot. A needle, alone and discarded. If Faolan hadn't wandered so close to those particular shelves, put his foot just there, the item might have gone unnoticed. But that small jolt of imbalance, the faint rasp of the needle, broke some fog over the mind. Details of the room came suddenly clear.

It wasn't just one needle. There were dozens scattered just around the corner, behind the far shelves. The empty box lay on its side by the wall as if it had been dropped. And there were other things too - tweezers, bits of gauze and medical tape, crumpled and blood-stained napkins, and the worn tip of someone's shoe.

Propped against the cabinet, one leg drawn up against his chest, Sarkany sat with his face in his hand. The arm was freshly bandaged, a scattering of napkins around it as if he'd dashed them aside. The seraph had always been so careful to avoid notice; where he borrowed, he replaced the remaining supplies exactly as he found them. Maybe he'd been relying on the full storeroom to deter the staff. Or else he'd expected the corner and the command to hide him. He hadn't looked up at the footsteps, and even this was different from his usual unseen act. Through the shadow of the shelves, the seraph's shoulders shook in silence.

[qhostqrowls]

Faolan paused at the crunch underfoot, gaze following the trail of scattered supplies that led to - Sarkany? 

It took the doctor a moment to recognise him. He'd never seen the seraph be anything but composed and self confident. His brow creased in concern as he took in the wounded arm and the miserable shake of his shoulders. He doubted it was the injury that had him crying.

"Sarkany?" He ventured softly, taking a careful step closer.

[MP]

The seraph made a muffled sound, but he didn't raise his head. Instead he fluttered the dead hand at Faolan - a shooing motion that he often used to reassure or, in some cases, tease the doctor. But there wasn't much convincing about the gesture.

“The mess, I know.” His voice was distinctly hoarse as he wiped at his eyes, "I'll take care of it.”

But even as he started to pull himself upright, something went out of his shoulders. Sarkany shook his head, his eyes red-rimmed as he finally lowered his hand. He swept the rags together in one hasty swoop, still mopping at his eyes with the dead hand. Then he began collecting the needles, one at a time into his palm. His hand trembled as he picked up the last, fingers curling around the cold sliver as if for a lifeline.

[qhostqrowls]

"Thats not -" Faolan hovered uncertainly behind the seraph as he stooped to clean the mess, needles clattering against eachother with each sweep of his hand.

"The mess isn't the problem." The surgeon crouched next to him, picking up the last stray items. In the moment of silence he considered his next question. He'd wheedle his way around a vauge question, and probably for a direct one too. But he still had to ask.

"What's really wrong?" He spoke carefully, gaze flicking between his red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

[MP]

Sarkany was silent for a long moment, and it seemed like Faolan wouldn't have an answer. He collected Faolan's stray needles and tucked them into their box, hand lingering over the lid, as if holding in something precious.

"My son," he said softly.

Sarkany handed the box back to the doctor. The fall of his hand was like an old man's, too weary to bear even that small burden. In that moment, he seemed truly old, worn down.

"My son was killed on the mountain, when the Soundless came. Atol's idea of revenge." Sarkany closed red-rimmed eyes briefly. "I've kept the other here since the attack. Too young. Too eager to act for his brother's sake. He would have been protected here. But the young-"

He shook his head. When Sarkany lowered the rags from his arm, angry, sutured flesh showed through. It was a bizarre wound, not a scratch nor a cut, but several parallel cuts that striped the skin, long and clean yet haphazard. Only some were deep. The rest Sarkany had left to the open air. He collected these rags with the rest.

"I was distracted. Too slow to stop him." He tested his arm, almost absently as he spoke. "He's gone, and there's no catching him now."

Sarkany's voice went softer still, pitched mostly to himself.

"Nothing to do but wait."

[qhostqrowls]

“I’m sorry.” Faolan said softly. Two sons, both gone in different ways. He could see the seraphs helplessness and grief, and knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would lessen the pain.

He looked over his wounds, brow furrowed. He knew of the work Sarkany had been doing, had seen him at all hours of the night throughout the building. To say he looked exhausted was an understatement.

“If someone wants to leave, they’ll find a way eventually. You’ve been busy. You can’t blame yourself for not being everywhere at once.”

He picked up the last of the mess, placing it absentmindedly onto the nearest shelf.

“What’s his name - the one that ran off? I might know him.”

He couldn’t think of anyone that looked like Sarkany - plenty of yellow eyes, but no one with the same hair colour. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to help at all. Asking wouldn’t hurt.

[MP]

"You may," Sarkany said, without much color to the words. "He works with your medical division. Sohl, they call him - Noah, if he's in the human mood."

He started to speak, then shook his head again. The boy had been well-trained, he told himself. Had a good head on his shoulders, when he wasn't drowning in grief and reckless spite. And he was so young - so anxious to prove himself, to protect. This, Sarkany knew, was what the boy believed he had been trained for. As if anyone could truly train for this. Yellow eyes lowered. Sarkany couldn't stand this helplessness, and yet he could not abandon the stabilization network to follow. He had learned that lesson, hard and well: always - always do what was necessary. Whatever the cost.

"If he's careful - aash." He pushed to his feet, trudging over to dispose of the last of the bloodied trash. The gesture finally moved him out of the doctor's way. "Forgive me. You'll want your supplies."

[qhostqrowls]

"Ah, yes. I do know him." Faolan answered, pleased that he did. He'd met him in passing a handful of times, seen him infrequently around the hospital. Enough to know his name and his face but not much else, only that he had something to do with warps. Or maybe it was time travel.

He turned to face Sarkany as he slipped to the side, considering the tired slope of his shoulders and the shadows beneath his eyes. The seraph had helped him, taught him skills he never would have learnt otherwise. He'd hadn't needed to. Hadn't gained anything for himself. And what had he given in return? A few stitches here and there, a smile from across the breakroom.

"I want to help. I mean, I don't know if I can - " He hesitated, almost embarrassed by the offer. "But you're his dad, the one who was keeping him here. You'll be the one he's hiding from. Someone who isn't involved might have better luck."

[MP]

Already halfway to the door, Sarkany stopped. His mouth opened. Closed again with a silent breath. It was plain how much the offer tempted him. But whether through doubt, guilt, or something else, he seemed unable to bring himself to ask.

“The lakeside mall has gone…sour,” he said at last. His tone seemed to skirt something unpleasant. “The failure is unnatural - outside interference, I expect. The pup believed he could remove it. But the place won’t be safe for you.”

The composure had gradually returned to his frame. His eyes, despite their red-rimmed quality, had regained their usual light, cool appraisal and a predatory confidence.

“No, quite unsafe. Don’t worry yourself about it, Doctor. The boy is trained. He’ll manage.”

He said it so dispassionately, so matter-of-factly, that one could all but see the wild in him - the herd that ambled on as its own was dragged down and killed; the weasel that could devour her own young and keep on running as if she’d never borne them at all. And before Faolan could read anything more in that tone, Sarkany took his leave.

[qhostqrowls]

Faolan turned absently back to the shelves as the door swung shut, a furrow between his brows. He trailed between the aisles, gathering the supplies distractedly and thinking over the conversation. By the time he was done, he’d come to a decision.

The seraph may have turned his offer down, but he was going to that mall.

~~~

Faolan turned the key in the ignition, and the radio went silent. He worried at his bottom lip as he looked at at the sprawling building through the windscreen. It looked normal enough.

He let out a breath as he exited the car, trying to calm his nerves. He thought over what Sarkany had told him, and relaxed his shoulders as he began the walk across the lot. Stay alert. Don’t look like prey.

Edge knew where he was, even if he’d skirted over the reason for the outing. He’d get in, find Sohl, and leave. It would be as simple as that. Feeling determined and uncharacteristically courageous, Faolan strolled into the mall, his pace unhurried and his gaze bright and watchful.

[MP]

The lakeside mall of Wathais, like much of the inner city, seemed untouched by the chaos that had reportedly claimed the world. Long before he reached its doors, Faolan could make out the tinted glass pyramids that topped the building, each reflecting dazzlingly out at the onlooker. The shoppers inside would have an open view of the cloudless autumn sky. It was the ideal weather for an outing, and the parking lots were completely full, each car gleaming and new. It seemed like, even at the end of the world, normal life went on.

Only, as Faolan crossed the parking lots, there was no sign of life at all. No new cars driving in. No shoppers trekking back to their cars. There was no sound from the road at all. Black Honda. White Tesla. Blue Toyota. Each was perfectly centered in their parking space. No one inside. No one coming back. Nothing moved behind the doors.

[qhostqrowls]

The doctor's unease grew with every step he took towards the silent building. His gaze skirted over the empty, perfectly spaced cars. The unmoving doors. A ghost-town mall might be creepy, but it couldn't be that hard to navigate, could it? He'd find Sohl in no time.

Goosebumps prickled along Faolan's arms as the doors slid open, and it wasn't because of the sterile chill of the air-conditioning. It wasn't empty at all. It was as full as the packed car-park would suggest, but almost everyone - the clerks, the customers, the packs of loitering teens - stood as still and motionless as the mannequins. A scattered handful of customers were moving, their gaits slow and aimless. Not the relaxed stroll of a window-shopper, but repetitive routes. To the register and back. In and out of the same changeroom stall.

Faolan felt a deep, instinctive urge to turn around and head straight back to his car. For a few long moments, he stood as motionless as everyone else. He took a careful, measured step forwards. And then another. No heads lifted to watch his progress, and the blank gazes stayed fixed vacantly ahead.

There was a upbeat pop song playing over the speakers, the sound echoing and eerie without the white-noise of conversation to soften it. Faolan kept his pace sluggish and his gaze sharp. Blonde hair, yellow eyes, tan skin. He looked subtly over every store and customer he passed, his anxiety growing as the minutes stretched on. A new pop began to play over the speakers as he turned a corner, and he finally found the features he'd been looking for.

Sohl blended in well, and his golden gaze was as alert as Faolans was. He felt a twinge of relief that he wasn't caught up whatever trance had ensnared the mall, and kept his pace unhurried as he walked closer, hoping he would recognize him. And know what to do.

He'd thought over what to say to convince the seraph to leave with him. But he hadn't counted on the mall being dead-silent. Would conversation trigger them into some kind of hive-mind attack? He blinked a greeting when their eyes met, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in the faintest of smiles. He'd have to lead him to some quiet corner of the mall where they could talk.