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His feet were moving before his brain had fully processed everything, and he was throwing himself down beside the backliner. There was nothing that could knock Jean down hard enough that he would not get back up again. He would only stay down if he couldn’t get back up.
Jean was pale, his pained breaths shallow.
“Show me what hurts,” Jeremy spoke as calmly as he could, but something wasn’t right. An eerie feeling hummed across his skin. He threw off his gloves and his helmet.
“I can’t, I can’t,” Jean was gasping over and over. His eyes were wide beneath the bars of his mask, gaze flickering back and forth up and down in a frantic pattern.
“What? You can’t what?” Jeremy’s hands hovered just above him, looking for the wound, the blood to staunch, something, anything he could do to help. He thought about stripping Jean of his gear, but thought better of it, not knowing where or what the injury was. A slow stream of blood poured from his nose. What was wrong? Why wouldn’t Jean just show him what was wrong? “What hurts?”
Jean’s eyes locked with Jeremy’s, grey and wide and terrified.
“I can’t feel anything.” It sounded like he was choking.
Bookmarked by owl_of_athenaia
22 Jan 2026