~Free~ (p)

He was free. That much he knew, and that much was good. However, he was also hurt, and didn't think he could last much longer. Perhaps he was going to die here, in the forest less than five miles away from the school. He could not help but think back to his escape. As he had left the building for what would hopefully be the last time, one of the Erasers had sunk sharp claws into his leg, tearing into the flesh. That had been bad enough. As he flew away, though, he heard signs of pursuit. He didn't dare look back, knowing that every second was vital. He had just made it to the forest when the shots came. For a few moments, he was not sure what had happened, but suddenly he found himself falling, his wings folding as a wave of pain washed over him. He hit the ground hard enough to stun him and to shatter his arm. When he finally did wake up from that, the Erasers were gone, but he was in immense pain and knew that he probably would not be able to make it into any sort of civilization. Even if he did, they would only bring him back to the School. Desperately, he had tried to force himself to move, to walk away and find a place to stay, but he had only made it a few yards before he collapsed, overwhelmed by pain, exhaustion, and blood loss. He was free, yes, but he was also in deep trouble.

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There was someone beside him, someone with a soft touch and a gentle voice, and somehow he knew that this person was not from the School. Her touch still hurt him, though, and when she shook him he could have screamed in agony as everything that had been hurt was suddenly moved. He managed to restrain himself to a quick, pain-filled gasp and a soft cry, then gritted his teeth and tried to sit up again. "Not okay," he hissed, eyes narrowed. "I can- I can take care of myself, though. Don't need...help. Too close...can't trust ...anyone." His face was pale, and it was clear that he was holding back, trying not to show how much pain he really was in. Everything seemed as though it was spinning, and his head felt suspiciously light. Perhaps it was just the blood loss, though. He struggled to sit up, and finally did so, although he looked as though even that had drained him.

He pushed the apple away with his only workable hand - it hurt too much to lift his broken arm enough to use his other hand. "Not hungry," he managed to say, still trying to control his reactions to the pain he felt so he wouldn't start screaming. He closed his eyes tightly, then moved his injured leg so she could see it - more specifically, so she could see the place where an Eraser had ripped out a chunk of flesh. "Can you...can you fix this?" he asked, then leaned back against the nearest tree, a sheen of sweat glistening on his face. He knew that he would not be able to eat with the pain, and that if he did force himself to eat, he would likely throw up.

When she poured the peroxide over his leg, he could no longer help himself. As the pain seemed to triple, he screamed, even though he knew it was dangerous to be making so much noise so close to the School. He had no control over it, the pain being so intense that there had been no way for him to hold in a scream. He stopped only when the burn had subsided somewhat, and just in time to hear the girl mention something only feeling like a pinch. The words set him on edge - he had heard then far too many times before, and after almost every time, he had either woken up in a new test or strapped down to an operating table. He scrambled backward as well as he could, which wasn't very well, considering that he was dragging a torn-open leg and a broken arm, but he still managed to put a little distance between the two of them. "No- no needles," he gasped out, then lifted his only free hand to his head, which seemed to be spinning. He caught sight of the blood trail he had left behind him, both through the forest and when he had tried to move away from the girl. A moment later, his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

When he woke up, several hours later, his head was pounding and there was a different sort of pain in his arm and leg. He did not try to sit up - his head hurt too much and he still felt quite weak - but he noticed that someone, probably the girl, had covered him with a jacket. For a moment, he thought that he had been left alone on the path, but then he saw the girl sleeping nearby. With his good hand, he gently nudged her back, trying to get her to wake up. He wasn't sure why he wanted her to wake up when he was so vulnerable. Perhaps he wanted to thank her, or maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to think that he might be able to trust her, at least for a little while. She had helped him, at the very least, and that had to count for something - although he did hope that she had remembered to clean out any dirt in his leg wound.

A name! She had asked him for a name, but he wasn't sure how to reply. Finally, he looked her in the eye and said shakily, "No- no name, Miss, not like yours. My label is Subject 27. The less-cruel ones call me that. The others call me 'mutant' or 'freak'. They don't give us names like Tara." He tentatively reached up and took her hand, although he wasn't sure if he would have the strength to stand. From what he had seen before he passed out, he had lost a considerable amount of blood, which had left him weak and would probably make his walk a little unsteady.

He stood shakily, looking at the water bottle for a few moments and then leaning back against a tree, his face pale and tight with pain. Had he been particularly observant, he might have noticed that he was only an inch or two taller than the girl, which meant that he probably weighed less - he was adapted to fly, after all. Instead, he replied quietly, "Miss, I- I would love to choose a name, but what I need right now is a place to sit or lay down which isn't this path. Can- can you help me?"

He leaned against her as they started down the path, unable to completely support himself. "Thank you, Miss," he murmured, then added, "I- I do know that your name is Tara, but I did not want to be rude. After all, you are a young woman that is probably not married but that I'm not really acquainted with, so I- I thought it might be best to call you Miss. I- I didn't want to offend you...I mean, I- I hate to say this, but at the moment I am dependent upon you."

He gingerly lay back on the couch, looking up at her, and frowned a little at her comment. "I do not think my hair is too long," he pointed out. "It is not nearly as long as yours...it only just barely touches my shoulders, and that's when it's soaking wet. Is it wrong for me to have my hair like this?" He was silent for a moment, then added, "Is it alright for me to not name myself yet?" He shifted position slightly and bit back a whimper. "Everything...everything hurts so much."

He shook his head. "I- as nice as a bath sounds, do you really think that it is a good idea? After all, I have a broken arm, yes? I do not think, if I remember right, that the cast should get in water, and I am unsure as to the stitches on my leg." He took a deep breath. "Besides that, I do not think that this is a pain that can be fixed by a simple hot bath. You have to understand...I have a dome arm and a chunk missing from my leg, and I have received nothing for the pain. I- I have to bear all of it together."