If You Don't (Fyodor X OC)

Limb From Limb

"𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞" - 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚔𝚎

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dread. All-consuming, unrelenting dread. I was swarmed by inconsolable anguish and horror at the thought- no. The fact that Fyodor was fighting for his life a mere few miles from here.

"Get him out of there! Bring him home! If he was just here, I could help him!" I demanded through a voice that screamed of how broken I was, pounding my fists into the kitchen table.

Ivan and Niklaus were glancing at each other, expressing silent monologues of how mortified and distressed they were. I couldn't tell if it was because they shared the same terror as I, knowing the Russian could slip away at any moment, or if they were scared of me. Quite frankly, in this moment, I was even scared of myself.

Ivan softly set his hand over mine, trying to calm me down. "They said they'd keep us updated. We just have to let them do their job," he spoke with such tenderness that it practically burned.

I shook my head rapidly, ripping my hand from his. "No," my tone was darker than I could have ever expected. I stood up, marching my way to the front door. Every step felt like I was walking through 4 feet of quicksand. I couldn't make it to the door fast enough to appease the drowning panic in my chest.

"Where are you going?" Klaus stood up, his chair scraping back against the floor.

I stopped at the door. My hands shook as they held onto the handle, rattling it with their agonizing tremors. I craned my head back over my shoulder, glaring at my brother, daring him to try and stop me. "To save Fyodor"

I didn't give a damn about his response. His opinion. His feelings. As I ripped the door open, I was filled to the brim with determination. The car roared to life, and thankfully the built in gps offered English translation. It wouldn't have mattered either way though. Nothing was going to stop me.

I recounted that nights events over and over again in my head as I raced towards the hospital. I didn't stop for a single light. Speed limits were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was getting to him.

I shouldn't have let him go. I should've fought for him to stay. The second I felt that anxiety settle in my bones, I should have done something. Instead, I had foolishly dismissed it the best I could. I had almost convinced myself that it was just myself being too attached to the Russian, and then it happened. Ivan knocking on our bedroom door. The look on his face - telling me something had happened before he could even mutter a word. The breaking of his voice as he told me something had gone wrong with Fyodors mission. The way his limbs seemed to feel as weak as mine, telling me that the man I loved was fighting for his life. The definitive worry when he explained that the doctors didn't think they could save him. I couldn't bare it. I couldn't grasp the concept, and I especially couldn't comprehend why nobody was doing anything. Why was nobody rushing to him like I was? Why were they so accepting of it? Why weren't they fighting for him as much as I was?

And then it hit me. As I tore into the parking lot with screaming tires, it hit me. They weren't trying because they knew he was too far gone.

I refused. I absolutely refused to believe that. To accept that. I ripped the keys out of the ignition, and ran to the emergency unit of the hospital. I swung the door open with so much force that the glass shattered against my palms.