BLIND | DreamSMP

XII - Adjusting

"Ow!"

"Stop moving so much, you're getting it everywhere."

Phil dipped the lukewarm cloth into the small glass of vodka he held, tiny ripples sloshing against the sides as he dampened a corner of the fabric with the clear liquid. Tommy was back on the couch, this time joined by Phil, who sat facing the scowling boy. Since bathing, the scratches and cuts on his face had become much more obvious, and Phil was worried one could become infected. It wasn't paranoia; Tommy had grudgingly admitted this was the first bath he had taken since being exiled, and that had been months ago.

"It stings!"

"Yeah, I know."

L'Manberg once had its own distillery, something Phil had taken full advantage of, until Tubbo closed it down in an attempt to keep the country's unstable economy afloat. It was hard to find good liquor now, but fermenting a portion of Techno's home-grown potatoes yielded a wonderful earthy vodka Phil and Techno both enjoyed on the occasional late night over a game of cards or chips. But the alcohol could do more than provide a buzz-- it was also an efficient disinfectant, though painful to apply.

"Are you done yet?"

"Almost," Phil lied, dipping the cloth into the glass again. He wasn't close to being finished, but telling Tommy that would only make him more impatient.

He gently dabbed at a large cut spanning Tommy's right temple, grimacing in sympathy as the boy hissed in discomfort and gritted his teeth.

"What's even the point of doing this?"

Phil withdrew the cloth, wetting the fabric in the vodka and beginning to work towards Tommy's jaw. "When I first came to visit Techno, I had no idea what kinds of creatures lived here. I made the mistake of traveling at night, and stumbled into a pack of Strays, not too far from the house."

"Strays?" Tommy asked.

"Six-foot tall monsters that'll eat anything and everything they find. They're venomous too, so if they manage to bite you, you're basically fucked."

"Oh."

"Anyways, I ran into four or five of them. One of them bit me on the shoulder, the little shit. I got away, but after a few days the wound soured and turned black. I ended up having to soak the cut in vodka, just like this, to disinfect it, which was painful, but the skin luckily returned to normal. It's always important to clean injuries, especially before they get to that stage."

Tommy had visibly paled throughout the anecdote, and didn't utter another word of complaint as Phil finished washing the scratches on his face.

----------

Tommy fiddled with the wooden carving, turning it over in his hands and running his fingers over the grooves cut into the polished trinket. Phil had given it to him before heading outside to check on the hibernating bees, and he was already becoming bored.

He lay down sideways on the couch, hating how familiar the cushions had become to him. Since bathing and having his hair cut, Tommy hadn't moved from the sofa, partially because he didn't want to trip again, and partially because Phil had told him to stay put, but every second the room grew stuffier and the walls he couldn't see seemed to close in, making it hard to breathe. He clutched harder at the carved toy, the sharper edges of the wood digging into his hand and providing a welcome relief that lasted only a few moments, fading almost immediately as the insufferable feeling returned stronger than ever.

Tommy jolted to his feet, dropping the carving as he stood.

He had to leave the house.