BLIND | DreamSMP

XXXVIII - Return

Phil started to his feet as Techno dashed after Quackity, intending to follow, but they had already rounded the corner, and he knew he could not keep pace with the younger and fitter males. Terror dizzied him, the prospect of losing his son for a second time that day flashing through his mind. 

Then he saw Fundy, collapsed in a bloody heap upon the platform. 

"I'll be back," Techno had told him before pursuing Quackity. 

There were others who needed Phil's help. He trusted Techno with his life, and was sure the man would never make a promise he couldn't fulfill. 

So he forced his gaze away from the sprawling streets of L'Manberg and back towards Fundy, mentally preparing himself to assume the role of a medic. He quickly checked the man's pulse and breathing, relieved to discover both were present. But his grandson lay curled on the wooden stage, which presented a major problem.

"Ranboo!" Phil called, the tall boy perking up at the mention of his name. "Can you come here for a second? I need your help moving Fundy."

"Yeah, yeah sure. What do you want me to do?" He asked, hurrying over.

"Hold his calves–gentle, not so rough. Put your other hand on his back, just hold it there for the moment." Phil himself was cradling Fundy's head with one hand, the other slid under his chest. "Now we're gonna shift him onto his back while straightening him out at the same time. Move slowly, and in sync with me." 

The process was tense, Ranboo scared he might accidentally kill his friend with a clumsy mistake, but in a matter of seconds Fundy had been laid flat. Phil's hands were stained red, most of the blows having landed on the fox-man's upper body. Though his own palms were mostly clean, the sight still made Ranboo feel a little queasy. 

Perhaps Phil could tell, because his next words were those of encouragement. "Good job Ranboo, that was well done," he said. 

The praise made the boy blush and duck his head. 

"Can you stay for a bit longer to help me assess his injuries?"

"O-ok."

"Great. Come hold his head for me–thumbs under his ears–be firm but don't apply any pressure."

Phil wiped his hands on his cloak, then slid them under different parts of Fundy's legs, taking them out to check for blood before carefully working his way up the injured man's back, repeating the process on the arms until he was satisfied.

"Ranboo, I want you to look for clear fluid around his ears and nose."

"I don't see anything. Is that good or bad?"

"Good. Are there any major wounds on his head?"

"There's a lot of blood. And his nose looks... not right."

"The blood is normal. Check again for any especially deep cuts. We'll fix his nose in a minute."

Phil tore a strip from the bottom of his olive cloak, draping the cloth across Fundy's head to soak up the blood. He ripped another piece of fabric, replacing the first and lightly dabbing at some of the lesions. It seemed to partially awaken the fox-man, who gave a quiet moan as he stirred.

"Keep holding his head," Phil instructed Ranboo. "And we'd better set his nose now, while he's still out of it."

"Really? Why?"

"It hurts like a bitch. If I were to do it after he woke up, we'd probably lose him again. Doing it now, it'll be less painful, and with a bit of luck snap him awake." 

Ranboo flinched inwardly, nose tingling as he silently vowed to protect it at all costs. 

Phil grasped Fundy's nose between his thumb and index finger, yanking it down and to the right with a sound that made the half-enderman retch.