In Search of Home

Chapter 37

Viktor didn't recall most of the journey to the vet's office. One moment he was on the floor in a hallway, hair getting sticky with his blood, and the next moment he was being gently placed on a metal table with too bright lights shining from the ceiling. 

"Bright," he mumbled, lifting his hand to cover his eyes. The lights seemed to pierce right through his skin and stab his brain. His head hurt.

There was murmuring above him and mercifully, the lights started to dim. Viktor, through the thick fog permeating his skull, wondered if they could suddenly understand him. He dismissed it, however, when they started pulling at his sweaters. 

"No," he protested feebly, fumbling to push their hands off him. His dizziness, combined with his lack of coordination, made it a useless task. They wrestled it off of him in seconds, and he shivered at the cool air. Someone started wiping at the back of his neck with a warm cloth, and he secretly reveled in the feeling. 

They dabbed at the front of his face, and he flinched away at the unexpected touch, baring his teeth. He grumbled a less than threatening, "fuck off," to the vets that they didn't seem to notice. Wiping dried blood off your face is less than pleasant, especially when the one doing the wiping has hands the size of your head. 

The hands pulled away, and he was immediately on the move. The dim lights helped with his massive headache, but they weren't good for his eyesight. He had no idea where the exit of this place was. "Vok'Rul?" he called desperately, gripping the edge of the table as he forced his body upright. "Vok-"

Gentle hands gripped his biceps, warm and firm. They pried his weak grip off the table and scooted him back towards the center. He blinked hard, trying to make out the figure through the dim lights and blurred vision. Blood was still dripping into his eyes. 

"Kohgrash, kor," the figure whispered, rubbing one of his claws up and down his arms, and Viktor knew that it was Vok'Rul. He tried to steady his erratic breathing and not flinch away as the scratchy cloth - not unlike some of the blankets he had gotten - wiped away at the cuts on his face. 

Soon enough, the cloth was pulled away and Viktor sucked in a huge breath, whimpering in pain as his head was moved once more. He could hear low murmuring in a language that was not his own, and he never wished to be back on Earth more than he had at that moment. 

Large claws pushed away his hair, prodding at the long cut on his forehead. He tried very hard not to thrash away, but his instincts were screaming at him to protect himself from these threats. His hands curled into fists, and he felt Vok'Rul's hands tighten around his arms. Vok'Rul must have said something he missed, because a moment later, another pair of hands gripped his ankles, much more tightly than Vok'Rul's hands on his arms. 

Burning flooded his sense as something smeared across his forehead, and Viktor was helpless to the scream that tore out his throat. Despite the fact that he knew these people were trying to help him, the burning ointment brought back too many memories of the arena for him to appreciate. He thrashed in their hold, kicking and trying to get his arms loose to no avail. He needed to get away. 

The burning sensation faded a lot faster than the one Lilac had always used on them, and he relaxed against the cold metal of the table, breathing harshly. His sharp movements had jarred his head even more, and he felt as though his brain would start leaking out of his ears. 

Something touched his nose, cold and wet. Jerking his head away, Viktor blearily opened his eyes to glare at the vet. "S'not broken, y'dicks," he mumbled at them, scrunching his face up at the uncomfortable sensation of the blood being wiped away from his face once more. 

More mumbling above his head. Viktor stopped trying to decipher the language. He closed his eyes against the onslaught that was his throbbing headache.