The Legends of Kartas | Ongoing

51. TWISTS AND TURNS

If Taehyung was doing bad, then Jimin was doing worse.

He had been trying to hide it from Hoseok as they tended to Taehyung's fever, but a makeshift bandage made from a ragged tunic could only go so far. While he had roamed the markets with his pouch of fake coins, he thought himself to be a lost puppy, staring at the bag, then at the merchants as he fought the rising guilt within him. He knew he was stubborn to not rely on the coins, but his plight did not grant him the right to deceive people—his people.

So he didn't and wandered instead, ignoring the itch prickling his wounds little by little until it was all he could focus on. And it had only gotten worse after Two had found him, after he had helped cool Taehyung's fever, after he had located a stall that sold masks and disapprovingly watched Two swipe one when the merchant wasn't looking, after Two had dragged Jin away to wherever Nero's pub was, if that was where she was even taking him.

Jimin was certain his skin was inflamed underneath the dirty bandages. He noticed the beginnings of infection the night before as he bathed, and although he couldn't see it now, he could feel it, smell it if he tried hard enough. So when Hoseok left for a break, stretching his limbs and yawning as he rubbed his eyes and dragged his feet out the door, when the only person in the room was an unconscious Taehyung, Jimin finally acted.

Grabbing the small chest of medical supplies Jungkook had procured from the innkeeper, who seemed to favor him much more than anyone else, Jimin pulled out a knife, a roll of linen, and a bottle of wine. Then, unsheathing the knife from its tiny home, he inhaled deeply before using it to cut his bandages.

It wasn't painful, but it took some effort to carefully remove each torn bit of the bandage because they stuck to his skin as if cemented with mortar. Semi-dried blood stretched, and sometimes when he accidentally ripped off the scabs and crusts forming, yellow rot dripped down his forearms to his hands.

After his arms came his legs, which were in better condition since most of Darius's metal shards had hit Jimin's upper body. Fortunately, there was no rot in sight. In fact, the wounds looked somewhat healed. His arms and hands, however, were a different story.

The swelling was starting to affect how easily he could clench and unclench his fists. The ice had done wonders during the days he had spent in the snowstorm, but now that he was at an inn with considerable warmth, decay had begun taking its toll.

Fire would help, he thought, but there was no point in burning himself when he had the wine. And the knife.

Gods, this would hurt like a bitch, but it was what had to be done. Balling a handful of linen into a knot, he bit on it and rubbed the knife clean before resting its tip against an infected area. He could do this. It was just a little sting. Panting, he eased the pointed blade against the swollen skin until it popped, overwhelmed with pus. Wiping his skin with folded linen, he repeated the process until all the rot in his wounds was drained.

By the fifth time, he was crying silent tears and croaking out broken screams. The pain was intolerable, cutting through his blood like sharp poison from a snake. If his hands didn't have holes from those metal rods that had pinned him against a tree, he would have fisted the sheets covering Taehyung on the bed as a distraction. But his hands had holes, and his wounds were shedding yellow tears. So all he could do was continue his work in agony.

Once he finished, the knife trembled in his grasp, and his vision blurred along the edge. He let the knife slip from his palm and groped for the wine. As he unstoppered the bottle, he thanked Jungkook's foresight, even though it was more for Taehyung than for him, and blew out a strained breath as he poured the substance onto his left arm. Then his right.