hadriel_logs | A Terrible Mistake Was Made [Closed]

Who: L Lawliet and Near
What: After an altercation with demon-possessed Mello, L comes home to find Near worse for wear.
Where: The house shared by the three of them
When: Backdated to shortly before demon!Mello's network post
Warnings: A dislocated shoulder and non-professional work to reset it. Will update if needed!

Knowing that there are strange things happening in Hadriel is par for the course these days. L's learned to navigate the more dangerous parts well enough, but this latest bit of business is unlike anything he's encountered since he arrived several months ago. If foes can wear the faces of allies, it's imperative to account for his own close ones and ensure that they're so far untouched by the phenomenon.

He arrives home to find the door ajar, and keeps his steps soft as he approaches and enters with bated breath. An upended coffee table hints at a recent struggle, and he swallows, apprehensive and on-edge.

"Mello? Near?" he calls softly, venturing further into the house. The silence indicates that whatever danger was here has since left, but even so, he remains vigilant.

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Focus is perhaps his greatest strength, or at least secondary to his powerful intellect. It has its drawbacks and had nearly cost him dearly back home, but it has overall served him very well in his life. And so he keeps at it here, concentrating on the words, on the change in tone. He does not begrudge the roughness, wouldn't even if he felt better; the content of the question is far more important.

"Mello." No, that's not right. The pain is getting in the way again, clouding his head. Another breath. Start over. Be clearer. "No. I mean . . . the demon possessing his body."

There. That's better. More accurate.

L was afraid of that answer, even as he expected it. The successors' alliance is already a tenuous and fickle thing, just scarcely dancing on the edge of civility, and given both of their instilled trust issues, even logic possibly can't override the visceral response that comes with having been brutally attacked by a foe wearing the face of someone who is supposed to be cooperating.

"We'll find him," L assures Near hurriedly and quietly, though whether or not that's cause for relief or apprehension is up for serious debate. "For now..."

He pauses.

"There's no doctor at this time in Hadriel, is there? Someone who can reset this? It appears to be a dislocated shoulder and leaving it untended to isn't an option."

He will try logic, because he always does, because it works. Usually. He knows it wasn't really Mello who did this to him, had ferreted that out quite nicely before the attack. But there are simpler, more primal instincts that will be at work. The desire to avoid further harm.

He's not sure whether finding the demon is a good thing and at the moment, his mind is not up to working out the complexities of the situation. Better to concentrate on the more immediate problem. Especially if it means he'll start to hurt less. This is hell. Dislocated? Yes, that sounds about right.

"No. Not that I am aware of."

L and Near have that in common; logic is the default and the first line of defense, and that old reliable method seldom fails them. Until it does, and they have to rely less on the shoulders of intellectual giants and more on what kept their ancestors alive and whole.

L's pale brow furrows. He's never done it before, but in theory...

"Near... would you trust me to do it?"

Trust? What a tricky, nebulous thing. Especially for people like them. Near at least recognizes his need for other people even if he is neither social nor trusting. He's a user and a leech, relies on his ability to read others to determine what he allows them to do in regard to him.

L has no logical reason to want to cause him further harm. But he is also no expert in a field like this, or he would not have bothered with the question about a doctor. Poor treatment could make this worse. Yet they all have made a study of the body -- a useful thing for the field they've engaged in -- and have at least a rudimentary knowledge of how things work.

"I don't believe there is any other option available to me."

It's not trust. Not quite. Just an assessment of the situation as it stands. He will allow it.

When L says "trust," it goes without saying that he only means it insofar as any of them can embrace it. Confidence in his abilities might have been more semantically apt, but there's only so much time, and the task ahead of them will be pleasant for neither young man.

Already kneeling, L shifts his position to give himself better leverage when he will need it. Redistributes his weight. With his long, spindly fingers and bony, insubstantial-looking wrists, it's fairly clear that he has never done this or anything like it before.

"I need you to lie on your back. I can assist you if it's too difficult to move alone."

"I can move." It's said almost too quickly, reflective of his instinctive aversion to being touched; he's in too much pain to brush it off as casually as he would under normal circumstances.

And he does move -- carefully, gingerly, until he's flat on his back. While it may be his norm to look away, while he may want to keep his eyes shut against the pain, he doesn't do so now. He keeps his gaze firmly focused on L, not precisely confident with what he is seeing. Clearly, L has never done this before. Near cannot say he likes this, but he has committed himself to this course of action.

The similarities L shares with Near are more readily apparent to most than the ones he shares with Mello. Maybe it's why Near became L's true successor, if only by default because he lived the longest. Perhaps foremost of these traits is a rather stoic streak; it doesn't surprise him in the least when Near swiftly asserts that he can take care of this part of the process alone without assistance, though there are probably other reasons. Ones that will have to become moot in short order, because there's no way L can do this without touching Near.

"I need you to extend your arm as far as you can," he instructs in a calm, level voice. "Try for a 90 degree angle."

That would make it clear where he needed to manipulate the joint, at least. It's common sense, simple enough, at least in theory. So much of this is "in theory." Too much.

They certainly will become moot and Near is well aware of it. His goal is to minimize the contact to what is purely necessary, not deny it altogether even as much as he dislikes it. Denying it altogether is simply not realistic in this situation.

He takes a breath, extends his arm as best he can. Getting it to a ninety degree angle obviously does not happen, but he puts in as much effort as he can muster. No quitting early, no trying to force it further than it will go. For this to have a chance at being properly fixed, Near needs to have the extent of the injury portrayed accurately.

And that indication is that it's moderate, but not severe. He lies still once he's finished moving the arm, mentally bracing for what he knows will be painful.

Unfortunately, though L's touch is ordinarily very delicate and minimalistic, that won't do in this situation. He will need a firmer grip, one that by its very nature must be painful. It's where his stoicism can only help, and Near's will be tested in the next minutes.

L grasps Near's wrist, settling back so he can dig his heels into the side of the boy's ribs. He realizes, fairly quickly, that this is wholly necessary, or else he won't have the traction or leverage to manage the task. It's tempting to rush to at least get all of this finished as quickly as possible, but he won't allow himself to botch it by hurrying at the expense of care.

Steadily, he begins to pull Near's arm away from his body, guiding it in the line it should form. Though there's resistance, if he continues (and he fully intends to, barring any sudden or violent reaction from Near), the humerus should slide under the shoulder blade and back into its socket.

Again... in theory.

A Terrible Mistake Was Made [Closed]

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