We’re Doomed Oh I Mean Good Morning. I Guess

We’re doomed oh I mean good morning. I guess

Pulse Point

opla!Zoro x reader

Summary: After almost losing you, Zoro is willing to do whatever it takes to keep you alive.

WC: 8.1k

Warnings: blood/gore, violence, no death but we get pretty close, medical inaccuracies probably

The last thing you completely felt was a sword plunging straight through your chest.

The blade was ice cold and nothing had begun to hurt yet. It was just uncomfortable. Like there was something inside you, pushing your chest apart. There was, technically, but there was supposed to be something besides slight discomfort. You could feel the metal moving inside you, but it did not hurt. Maybe the adrenaline was helping.

For a second, you were one with the sword. Your body, pierced on its blade, took one final step backwards, pulling the sword out of your attacker's hands. He looked surprised. As if he expected you to be invincible. Like this wasn't a part of his plan. Like he expected your chest to secretly be made of rubber, like your captain, and the blade would just push your body backwards.

Unfortunately, that strength belonged solely to your captain. You were not indestructible, despite your frequent and overconfident declarations of that being so every time you managed to walk away from a fight with only a couple bruises and bloodstained clothes.

Those declarations were bold faced lies. You knew that you were as mortal as the others. As mortal as the man in front of you, whose blade had gone straight through your chest, who was looking on in disbelief as you waited for something to happen.

He reconciled with himself quickly enough, and grabbed the hilt of the sword once more, shoving the blade in further.

You could hear the screams all around you, but they rang dull and hazy, your ears stuffed with cotton. It was like you were underwater and they were above it, but even when they dove in, the words were still incoherent and dim.

You tried to scream yourself, but your voice choked in your throat. Your mouth hung open instead, in a look of pure shock. You felt like a doll, completely unable of moving on your own, only manipulated by the forces around you, namely the blade that had cut you open.

It started to hurt. At first you felt a burning ache, along where the blade sat. Soon, it spread. You were being torn apart. Cleaved in half. It hurt like all hell.

The man holding the sword showed no more remorse for you, using his foot as leverage to get your body off his weapon, pushing you to the ground.

Once your body was removed from the blade, you began to fall back. You attempted to tuck your head forwards to prevent any hard contact, but you were no longer able to control your movements.

Halfway down, you saw your murderer get tackled to the side by an unyielding force. It passed by so fast, you were unable to even see who had done it, but they began to hit him hard.

You hit the cobbled ground with a flash of white as your head collided against the stones, another ache that lingered as you attempted futilely to get ahold of yourself.

You were cold, your extremities shivering in shock as you lifted your head up hazily to view the gore of your chest, a horrific sight of blood and flesh. The pain radiated through you like a second heartbeat, so oppressive that you found it difficult to breathe. You simply choked on the air.

Finally, a person entered your line of sight. Luffy. He hovered over you, your captain. The way he looked at you reminded you of the day you almost lost Zoro. The pain in his eyes. He looked as inexperienced as ever. You did not want him, or any of them, to go through that experience again. Not with you.

You wanted to say something, apologize for not reacting when he thrust the blade forwards, for essentially letting him run you through, leaving a gaping wound that was drenching everything it could with a thick coating of blood.

Luffy shouted at you, looking desperately around before dropping to his knees next to you. You were still underwater. You couldn't hear anything clearly, and your vision was drifting in and out of focus.

Sanji came forward, on your other side. His coat was already slipping down his arms and with a swift movement, he bundled it up around his hand and pressed it against your wound.

You could tell he was apologizing, the same word, "sorry", etched on his lips as he leaned forward, sending more flashes of pain through your body. It was red hot, burning so bright you tried to writhe away from him, but Luffy's position made it difficult, blocking you from rolling over.

You attempted to scream, but instead, you felt something fill your mouth.

When you coughed the warm liquid up, you realized it was blood. At the very least you weren't choking on it yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Nami made her appearance at your feet, and Usopp followed, sitting in between Sanji and Nami, the same horror you saw from Luffy in his eyes.

You noted immediately that Zoro wasn't hovered over you as well and you worried that a grave fate had already befallen him.

When your lips parted to mouth his name, no sound leaving your bloodied jaw, everyone's heads shot in the same direction, at the approximate location your killer fell.

Nami leaned over and you saw Sanji carefully peek at the coat he was using to hold you together. It was a disgusting sight. The fabric came away completely darkened, soaked through with blood. Too much blood. The coat pressed down again, and now Sanji looked scared.

Zoro came into view, he looked furious, but it melted away immediately when he saw you. His anger was replaced with fear and devastation.

You wanted him to grab you and hold you against his chest, promising that everything would be alright, like he had many times before, but you didn't think that it was possible to be alright. Not this time.

He sat at your head, looking down at you and the sunbeams from behind his head made him look like some kind of angel, despite the flecks of blood splattered across his face and the bruise slowly darkening on his cheek.

For once, he did not shout at Sanji for touching you. He hardly acknowledged Sanji's work. His eyes were fixed on you. If he looked down at your injury, his eyes did not trace up the arms to see who it was staunching the blood and his brow did not furrow at the sight of the crewmate he would easily insult for looking at him the wrong way were this any other situation.

His hands took your face, attempting to reach out to you with his words, but you were unable to hear his request.

You wanted to hold him, and a weak arm raised from your side, hanging lazily in the air before Zoro took it. He squeezed gently, and you attempted to return the gesture, but your hold was weak enough as it was. He felt it anyways.

Sanji was forced to push harder on the injury and you recoiled once again, doing anything you could to escape the pain. This time, Zoro did notice Sanji and snapped out of his fear.

"Careful." He practically snarled at Sanji. You heard him faintly, surfacing for a second before dipping under again. The pain did not lessen, and you knew Sanji had to hold it as tight as he did because otherwise you'd be absolutely drained of blood.

You heard muffled talk above your head, but you only barely managed to grasp what they were trying to say. They were talking about finding a doctor, getting you somewhere safe.

You were exhausted, and you wanted nothing more than to close your eyes and drift into sleep, but you knew if you did fall unconscious, you might never wake up.

Your body became weightless as Zoro lifted you from the ground, new pain mixed with the old, and you felt awful. The coat pressed harder against you, if possible, but you didn't react. You were too weak. You felt like you were being squished when a hand pressed against the exit wound on your back.

Zoro began to walk, his pace hurried with your body resting in his arms, life seeping out as quickly as your blood.

Despite your limp position, you noted that your arm was not hanging down as Zoro ran. He had taken care when lifting you up to grip your wrist in his hand, a finger pressed against your wrist, directly over your pulse point, though by now it was more likely you would be feeling his pulse instead of him feeling yours.

You looked up and met eyes with Zoro. "Stay with me." He ordered as you surfaced again. You did your best, but you were fading fast. "Stay with me!" He shouted, picking up his pace. He was practically begging, and your heart broke.

Your head fell back, unable to hold itself up anymore, your breaths shallowing. Your eyes threatened to shut, but you tried your hardest to keep them open.

You felt yourself moving faster. Zoro's underwater voice begged once more. "Please." Whatever he was asking you to do, you could not hear. You drew whatever strength that remained and focused on his voice. "We're gonna find a doctor. They're gonna fix you."

Your eyes drifted shut for a long second before opening again. You didn't think you were going to make it. You felt unfixable.

You wanted to say goodbye to Zoro and thank him for everything he had done for you. You wanted to tell him how much you loved him, but your voice had disappeared long ago. Or perhaps only a minute or two. Time was drastically changed in your state.

The bright light of the sun disappeared as you were brought inside a building. You were no longer able to keep your eyes open as your body was laid down. You heard desperation from the muffled voices, but even those drifted away.

The last thing you heard was Zoro's deep voice, practically silent, but you recognized it nonetheless. There was some more ambiguous sounds, and a faint touch on your hand, and you were out.

None of the crew was allowed inside for the process, which left them standing outside the building, waiting.

Zoro stood still, only one step away from the door. If it opened he was likely to get hit in the face. He was covered in blood. Your blood. He felt sick.

He had never seen you like that before. So frail, broken. Weak. It hurt him to no end. You were strong. You were powerful and you never backed down. You stood tall before your enemies and treated them all equally, that is to say with unyielding force, and a barrage of attacks so powerful they had even put Zoro on his ass once.

Seeing you like that, your face ashen, your body nearly limp as you struggled to draw your breaths, it terrified him. You were a human, as fragile as any other, but Zoro had never seen you like that. Echoes of the way your body trembled while he carried you buzzed through his arms. An awful sensation.

"Zoro?" He turned around to look at whoever had called. He faced the crew, all sharing looks of worry, the same fears running through their heads.

"They're gonna help. Everything will be alright." Nami said, for the group's benefit as well as her own. "The doctors will help." Zoro said nothing.

Hours passed, each second agonizingly long. No updates, no confirmations, just a painful, unending wait. The only comfort the crew found was knowing that you were not dead yet. They would have been told already.

It was around midnight when the strangers came. There were three of them, each wearing dark cloaks. Black in the moonlight, but it would be reasonable to think that they might be blue in the daylight.

They walked without stopping to acknowledge the frightened crew, pushing past Zoro and walking straight into the building, closing the door behind them.

Zoro heard a couple guesses as to what the strange people were doing there, but all he could understand was that they were going in to help you. In that regard, he did not care if they had not looked at him, despite his looming presence at the door. He just needed you to be safe. He needed them to save you.

Time passed slower than ever, and Zoro was growing irritable. When Sanji left to get them some food, he refused his portion, saying it could be sacrificed to the captain. It was, but the group could tell that he was terrified for you.

Finally, after one last hour, the strangers left, the one at the front clutching a jar, with an indiscernible item floating inside. Payment for their strange services, the crew guessed.

They were followed out by the doctor, who was thanking them profusely before turning to the awaiting crew.

"Your friend is stable." The doctor said, tone warning. The crew hardly cared.

"They're alive?" Luffy asked. "Yes." There were relieved sighs all around. "But, there's a problem." The tension returned.

"We needed to use an old form of magic to save them. It keeps them alive, but only for a little while. When the magic runs out, your friend will die."

Zoro's fist clenched. "You couldn't save them?" He asked, accusatory. "We tried, but the wound cut too close to the vital organs. Without proper surgeons, our only shot was to mend as much as we could, and use the magic. We use it here to allow for peaceful goodbyes."

Zoro hated everything the doctor said, about not being able to heal you entirely, about this waning magic and the thought of having to say goodbye. It was disgusting.

"Goodbyes?" Usopp asked weakly. "Like, goodbye, forever?" The doctor nodded, a false solemnity. "Your friend is strong. I've had people slip through my fingers with far lighter injuries. I suppose they wanted to come back to you."

"Are they awake?" Zoro asked, voice flat, but bubbling with restrained emotions.

"Asleep right now, but they will awake in the morning. Until then you can find an inn to sleep in, and visit in the morning."

The doctor began to close the doors, but Zoro grabbed the door, holding it firmly. "I'm not leaving." Zoro said. "I want to stay with them." "We don't allow visitors at night." The doctor explained, a deep frown directed at Zoro's hand on the door. "It might disturb the other patient's rest." "Are there any other patients with them?" Zoro demanded. "Well no, but we still have rules." "Damn your rules. I need to be with them."

The doctor took an indignant breath, but let it out weakly. "If you touch nothing, you may stay. But only one of you. The rest will have to come back in the morning."

Zoro stepped forward, opening the door himself. No one dared challenge him. He was going to be at your side. He had to be.

"I'll see you in the morning," He turned to the crew, trying to control the shaking in his voice. A few scattered goodnights were spoken and with that, the crew left.

Zoro was led inside. The building smelled of pure alcohol, with an undercurrent of blood. It stung as he walked down the hall, led into the room where you were being kept.

You were alone in the room. On a bed, not accompanied by any fancy machinery or dressed excessively in bandages. He supposed your wound would be dressed under the paper thin gown you had been given. You lay still, your face calm. If Zoro had not seen the rhythmic, steady rise and fall of your chest, he would have sworn that you were already dead.

He approached you carefully, hand reaching out to hold yours. Your skin was cold against his. Still, he held on. With a careful touch, he pressed his thumb against your pulse point, feeling the gentle thrum beneath your skin, a sign of life. You were alive.

It wasn't right however. Not a heartbeat. The steady thumping of a pulse was replaced with a consistent feeling of movement. The magic, he realised. That was what was keeping you alive. Not your heart. Not anymore.

Still a sign of life, he breathed a sigh of relief, trying to keep himself composed, even though he wanted to collapse at the knowledge that you were at the very least alive. It meant he had time to save you. "It's going to be alright." He promised your sleeping form. "You are going to survive."

He sat on the floor, leaning back against your bed, head cushioned by your mattress. A hand stayed protectively around the hilt of his swords, at the ready, in the highly unlikely event that someone came to finish you off.

The other hand reached up to feel your pulse point again. It felt strange to feel the thrumming of magic under your skin instead of your blood. It was only a slight consolation that it was still responsible for your life.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Zoro slipped into a dreamless sleep at your bedside, soothed by the fact that for the time being, you were still alive.

The rest was needed, for he did not wake up until one of the nurses arrived in the morning, opening the door to your room, spurring Zoro into action. He did not pull out his swords, but the nurse looked terrified nonetheless. He probably looked a mess, having slept on the floor, your blood soaked into his clothes, still looking fresh from a fight.

After quickly checking on you, still asleep, the nurse nodded and left quickly, making significant efforts to not look Zoro in the eyes.

"Zoro?" Your weak voice caught his attention. He spun around to face you, seeing your eyes, fixed on him.

He moved to you, grateful to see you awake. You moved carefully, trying to ease yourself into a sitting position.

"Does it hurt?" Zoro asked, looking like he wanted to help, but unsure of how to offer it.

"I can't feel anything." You answered numbly, hand reaching up to your chest, where a check from the nurse had revealed your bandaged midsection.

You were not lying to comfort Zoro. In place of the agonising pain from before, there was nothingness. Like your insides had been scooped out, leaving you hollow.

Zoro explained as best he could what the doctors had done to you. You listened, all the while staring at your chest, feeling the hollowness.

"How much time do I have?" You asked, and Zoro cursed himself for not asking that question earlier. "I don't know."

"You have the next two days." The doctor said sternly, appearing from the door. "To say your goodbyes, pay your dues. It will be painless."

You said nothing, just looking blankly at the doctor. Faced so suddenly with your death twice in a very short timespan was a painful experience. You had thought you were safe.

Zoro watched you nervously. You looked scared. Obviously you despised the thought of dying, but he was still so unused to it.

He watched as your hand inched over to his. He reached up and took it without question. You squeezed his hand firmly, trying to keep your cool.

"Can we have a minute?" Zoro asked, tone sturdy, authoritative. "Alone?"

The doctor frowned, but said nothing, leaving as requested.

As soon as the door closed, Zoro turned to you, completely focused on you. Tears burned at his eyes. He was going to lose you.

"They couldn't save me?" You asked, looking straight ahead, still processing everything. "No. It was the only option. But I'm going to find something else. I promise. You're going to be alright."

You leaned forward, falling onto him, hugging him as tight as you could.

"I thought I was never going to do this again." You mumbled into his shoulder, tears welling in your eyes. "I wouldn't even get to say goodbye." Zoro's arms wrapped around you in a protective hold, avoiding where the sword had exited your body. He too, felt the tears stinging his eyes. He had thought much of the same. "I was so scared." You admitted quietly. "It hurt so much and I couldn't keep my eyes open, it was awful."

You curled up, body moving closer to Zoro, who just held you tighter, clinging to you. "You're safe." He promised. "You're safe now."

He could feel your shaky breaths through his shirt. The spot on his shoulder where your eyes were pressed was suddenly damp. Zoro tried rubbing your back, but cautiously avoided the area of injury, giving him limited space to work with.

There was a knock on the door and you jolted up. Zoro expected you to wince, but the movement did nothing to affect you. You simply answered it with a call.

"Come in."

The door burst open, and your crewmates spilled in, rushing to you. The floodgates burst open. There was tears and confessions, everyone spilling truths that needed to be told to you for fear of you never getting to know otherwise.

Finally the doctor came in again, to deliver the news properly, this time with your found family there to hear it as well.

You got the recap, about the magic in you, how it would fade, giving you a peaceful send-off, with enough time to say your goodbyes. You nodded at the explanation, lips set in a firm line. You were still dying, but at least it was painless.

The crew decided to say their goodbyes individually, allowing them one last moment with you before the end.

The realisation set in slowly but surely. That you truly were experiencing the end, that death was coming for you, and your ticket to the afterlife, if there was one, had been paid with the magic in your chest, thrumming in place of your heart, keeping your blood moving as your body uselessly tried to replenish what had been lost.

The one-on-one conversations were moving, and you found yourself growing serious. This was your end. You had accepted it. They needed to as well.

You began to feel it fading. The strength you had felt earlier in the day was gone now, and it was more comfortable to sit still than to move around. You were getting weaker. You were still dying. It was frustrating, even if you had come to terms with it.

Most of your friends had gone already. Zoro was last. Before he came in, around lunchtime, the doctor paid you a visit to make sure everything was alright.

"How are you?" The doctor asked. "Fine. It doesn't hurt. I'm just tired." You admitted quietly. "You held on to your life well. We were all impressed. For a second, we almost thought you would make a recovery." The doctor said, checking your bandages for blood. "Oh?"

"Unfortunately it was impossible." The doctor covered quickly. "Without a surgeon, we could never be able to mend it properly. But, you've been stabilized. It's the best we could do."

The doctor finished the checkup and left, allowing Zoro to enter.

He looked tired. You saw the redness of his eyes. He had cried. You wondered if he split off in order to let it out or if he did it in front of the others. He had changed into fresh clothes, no longer covered in the horrific reminders of your attack.

"Hey Zoro." Your voice sounded so weak and you wanted to punch something to cope with your body threatening to shut down around you.

At the very least, you could speak. Throughout the day your voice had faded, going from your strong, regular tone to a scratchy whisper. It was tiring to speak too loud. You wanted to save Zoro the pain of seeing you like this, but he had already seen you while you knocked on death's door the first time. At least this time you were clean and able to see and hear him properly. You didn't want him to see you like this, but he didn't care. He needed to say goodbye.

He stood next to your bed. The sheets were pure white, a stark contrast to the blood that had been shed on the operating table. The bandages around your chest were pristine too, as if you were attempting a fashion statement instead of hiding your mortal wound.

In his mind's eye, Zoro could still picture you, limp in his arms. The visions flashed as he looked at you in the bed, barely moving, voice faded.

He had replayed the entire ordeal a thousand times over during his wait, from the last minutes of the fight, to him finding his place at your bed, protecting you from an unlikely attack.

He remembered every gory detail. The way you felt in his arms, the colour of the blood stained into the fabric of his shirt and Sanji's coat, the very make of the blade that had pierced you, every bruise he had pummeled into your murderer's face.

Your hand reached out, and he took it. This time, you inspected it, a finger brushing along his knuckles, which were rough and irritated. "Zoro." Your tone detailed the rest of the rant you wanted to go on. About how he needed to channel the anger somewhere else when he got angry. To not just rush at whatever he could and fight it.

He shook his head, defending himself. "I did this to the asshole who-" his voice caught and he cleared his throat, grumbling at the floor.

After taking down the man he had been a furious whirlwind, pummeling his fists into the man's face until he had been unrecognizable, only pulled away from his violence by the sight of you, eyes glazed over, trying desperately to stay alive.

You squeezed his hand, only slightly stronger than it had been less than a day before. He squeezed back with the same force.

You could feel the emotions in the room. It was stifling. Zoro refused to sit in the chair set up for your visitors, and by the looks of it, he would refuse if you asked him to.

You sat in silence, looking over his body, registering every inch of his skin you could see, making sure he was okay. You noted a cut on his bicep. It had scabbed over, but looked rough. At the very least, it could have used a bandage. The bruise on his cheek was darker now, but not serious. Still, an ice pack or some cold vegetables should have been used to soothe it.

"It's fine." Zoro refused to let you say anything about the situation, knowing your analytical way of scanning him for injuries.

"I've had worse." His voice wavered.

You felt the world still. His voice had never wavered before. Everything he said was strong and assured. Even in the most brutally honest discussions you had had with him, tears on both of your faces, he had not broken. He had hesitated, he had choked and been cut off. He had spoken words quickly in times of stress and his tone occasionally made him sound careless, but it shattered you to hear him crack.

You needed to hold him, so you pulled him down. You tugged on his arm and he followed your guide as you looped your arms around his neck. You could feel his unsteady breathing as his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your shoulder.

You sat in silence, his ragged breathing in your ear as he tried to resist the emotions he was trying so hard to hide.

You leaned back, and he followed your lead, joining you on the bed, lifting you up so that you could lay on him, between his legs, just like you did on the ship. You rolled over once he got behind you, so that you were chest to chest, head nestled next to his, the rising and falling of his chest still evidently restrained.

You realized that he was warm and briefly wondered how cold you felt to him. His arms wrapped completely around you, warming you up. You realized a little too late that you were shaking. He held you protectively. Like a shield. He wanted, more than anything, to protect you, but he had not been able to. He had let you get hurt. He had stood by and done nothing until it was too late.

Having already failed you in his mind, he simply held you tight against him, begging whatever powers that may be- the powers that he did not believe in- to give him more time. To give him all the time in the world. To give him a miracle, anything to prevent him from dealing with this devastating reality.

"What do I do?" He unintentionally asked out loud. He found himself unable to look down at you, furious at his involvement, or lack thereof, with your current position, so close to death. He wanted to cry, but refused to let that happen. He needed to stay strong for you. He needed to protect you. He was not going to let you get hurt again.

"Zoro?" You said it just to catch his attention. The overuse of his name had been apparent, but necessary. "It wasn't your fault. It's okay. You can let it out."

The dam broke. The words were simple, but it was what he needed to hear. He shook with heavy sobs, but stayed quiet. There was no bawling or shouting, or anything you would expect. It was just quiet. His shaky breaths were all you could hear against the silence of the room around you, like he had trained himself to be as silent as possible when he cried.

"It's okay." You spoke the words again.

"It's not." His voice shook again. "I should have stopped him." "Don't blame yourself, it won't help you." "I could have stopped him."

"It was my fight." The firmness in your words silenced his protests. "I may have lost it, but it was my fight to lose. I wouldn't have stepped in between your fight with Mihawk." He opened his mouth but you stared him down.

"Promise me that when I'm gone you won't blame yourself. I don't blame you. I lost the fight. There was nothing any of you could have done." He nodded. A weak gesture.

"Promise me." You ordered.

"I promise." He said with a heavy sigh, followed by a shaky inhale. You breathed out and laid your head against his chest. "Good. It wasn't on you."

He was reaching the end of his cry, his breaths beginning to settle. "Please stay with me." You requested, comfortable in his arms. "Until the time comes."

"Of course."

He pulled the thin blanket up to keep you warm, still in his arms, lulled into a sense of peace for your last hours, however many you had left.

You thought back to the good times. Walking along sandy beaches and through lamplit towns at night, where the only thing that mattered was the person holding your hand. You thought back to napping with him, on deck, sitting next to him, your head on his shoulder, or in the hammock, swinging back and forth with the rocking of the boat, feeling safe in his arms.

You remembered talking. Talking about your interests while he lazily listened, comforted by the sound of your voice as you explained what you did and why you did it.

In a strange twist of events, you stayed quiet, while Zoro spoke up.

His monologue was about you, how much he loved you, the way you had impacted his life, memories he had of you, anything he could think of, so long as it pertained to you.

His speech was stilted and certainly not well thought out. His sentences dropped off at odd places or fizzled out when he could not think of anything more to say. His voice stayed as level as he could make it, the occasional tremor running through. It was far from an impassioned declaration of love, but that was not what he could provide for you. That was not what you needed. You needed him. And that included his awkward words, still unused to being this intimate with anyone.

He finished his tangent by pressing his face against your head. "I'm gonna miss you." He said into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

His admission left a sinking feeling in your stomach. Had he really accepted that you were dying?

You shifted so that your eyes looked up to the bottom of his jaw. "You have no idea how much I love you." He murmured, and for a second you thought he had fallen asleep on your head, but he was just still, wishing this moment could last forever.

"I believe in love because of you." You felt another kiss to the top of your head. "What am I going to do when you're gone?"

You sat up a bit, so you could look him in the eye. "You are going to become the best swordsman in the world. Obviously. With or without me you are going to follow your dreams."

He took your face in his hands, carefully, like you were made of a fragile glass. It felt that way. He held you so gently he was scared you would break. "What do I do to make you stay?"

The question was strong. It wasn't a soft thought he spoke out loud just to say something, the musings of a grieving man. There was purpose behind it. He wanted an answer.

You shook your head instead, tears brimming in your eyes. "You can't. There's nothing."

His brow furrowed and you realized how serious he was. He would swim around the world if it would somehow cure you. He would do whatever you said even if it only gave you a few more days with him. You did not want him chasing a lost cause.

"Even if something could be done, it's too late." You leaned forward again, falling against him.

"Don't say that. You aren't dead yet. There has to be something." He insisted, sitting up straight, trying to keep you comfortable while he did so. "Zoro, stop it. There's nothing."

His eyes scanned your body as if there was a machine that could calculate a solution for him. His analysis turned up nothing. "I'll talk to the doctor."

You watched, half-formed protests dying in your throat as you spoke, as Zoro manoeuvred himself out of the bed, laying you down carefully, and deciding what to do next.

He walked towards the door and you said the only thing you could. "Roronoa Zoro." His full name made him stop. This could be the last time he heard you say it.

"Don't give up. I can help you. Let me help you." You shook your head. "This is the last resort." You touch your bandaged chest, where the magic keeping you alive slowly faded away.

"I survived." He pointed at his own scar, a dramatic line ripped across his chest. You wanted to agree, but you went through something different than he did. "The blade went straight through me. He barely missed my heart. I bled out." "You can heal." The desperation in his eyes shattered your heart. "They have a doctor here. Not a surgeon. They can't fix this. They can only sew it up and keep me alive as long as they can."

Zoro's head shot up. "You need a surgeon." His eyes practically ignited with hope. "Zoro." "I'll get you to a surgeon."

He leaned down, arms slipping behind your shoulders and under your knees, lifting you off the bed. "Zoro, put me down." You argued, doing nothing to get out of his grasp.

He hesitated for a second, your body laying the same way it had when you were dying less than a day ago. "You can't spend your last moments in here, waiting for it to end." He said sternly.

"Zoro." "One last trip." He insisted. "What's the worst that could happen?"

He knew that he had caught you in a corner, determination covering his features. "What if it doesn't work?" You asked, preparing him for the likely occurence. "Then I'll know I did everything I could to help you." He promised.

You said nothing in return, letting him help you up, and when your legs were too weak to help you walk, he swept you up, carrying you to the door, opening it to face your crew. At first, there was an oppressive silence, as if they had expected you to be dead.

"We're going to find a surgeon." Zoro insisted. There was no need for argument, the crew was more than ready to accommodate this detour.

There was a hurried walk to the ship, prepared to set sail as soon as possible, headed to a nearby island that boasted a city, surely there would be a surgeon there.

In the meantime, Zoro stayed with you. You were laid in a bed, offered many comforts, but it was evident that you were getting weaker. He sat next to you, one of your hands clasped in his for comfort.

You started the trip sitting up in bed, able to keep up with conversation, but soon there was a change. You were getting tired, and laid down.

Zoro stayed with you through it all, as the boat sped along the waves. As your eyes drifted closed, he urged you to stay awake.

You took one long blink and suddenly you moved, shifting under the blankets, lethargic movements that betrayed how little time you had left.

Zoro watched as you leaned up slightly against your pillow. "Zoro, if this doesn't work, I want to be buried at sea." Your voice was weak, but Zoro hung on to every word.

He wanted to interrupt and tell you that it was going to work, but he said nothing. He waited for you to finish. "Sail somewhere uncharted and leave my body to the sea. That way I'll always be with you. In the waters."

He looked up at you, the hand not holding yours went up to caress your face. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Kiss my lips, idiot. " You mumbled. A smile brushed the edge of his mouth. He obliged you, and despite your tiredness, you looped your arms around his torso, tugging him in with what little strength you still had.

"Promise to bury me at sea?" You asked. "I promise." His voice was rough, tainted with emotion. "But it is going to work."

You smiled. "Of course it will."

Luffy came in to update you on the progress of your journey. Almost halfway there, by Nami's calculations.

You still did not expect to be alive by the time they docked, but that was a concern you would not voice.

As you were left alone again, you fought to stay awake. A losing battle. Zoro urged you to stay conscious, but it was getting harder and harder to do, fighting the urge to fall asleep, knowing it would be a rest you would never wake up from. He held your hand in his, his fingers carefully positioned over your pulse point, feeling the thrumming slow under his touch.

"Stay awake. You can do it."

You did your best, minutes feeling like hours as you struggled to stay awake.

When the boat docked, Zoro was already picking you up, running to find you the surgeon. He was not going to lose you. Not if he could help it.

The hospital was in sight when your eyes finally drifted closed, unable to hold them open for much longer.

"Stay awake." Zoro pleaded, shoving through the front doors.

"I need a surgeon!" He shouted, your weak body held against his chest, a haunting reminder of the day before.

When your body was pried from his arms a second time, an overwhelming emptiness filled him once more.

He spent every second questioning the staff of the hospital about your condition. Every answer was the same. Nobody knew what was going on.

Time passed as slowly as it could, and Zoro was restless. Any attempts to soothe him were ignored.

The only update he got was the doctors coming out, asking the strangest question he had ever been asked.

"Where did the heart go?"

Zoro was confused. Your heart was still in your body, it's processes aided significantly by the magic, but it was still there. It should have been.

"What?" He asked, confusion and anger bubbling in his chest. "The patient's heart is missing. It's been removed. Do you have the specimen?"

Zoro's world lurched as he put pieces together. The doctor looking upset at his insistence of being with you. The lack of a distinct heartbeat. The jar carried by the strangers. The way you confessed to feeling like you were hollow instead of in pain.

Those doctors had removed your heart. That was why you were "beyond saving". Because they had stolen one of your most vital organs.

It made no sense. Why would they do that? The fury raged on as Zoro's brain tried to think of any other explanation for what had happened. Your heart was missing from your chest cavity. Your heart.

His anger bubbled, swearing a lengthy and bloody revenge against whoever had removed your heart and all responsible for it.

Another doctor rushed towards the one interrogating Zoro, and with a jumble of words like compatibility, donor, and transplantation, they came to some sort of decision.

They left quickly, promising Zoro that they were going to try something risky, before rushing off with determination, leaving Zoro fuming and confused.

He stopped his harrassment of the staff briefly, finding the crew sitting nervously in a waiting room. Upon seeing him, they jumped up, but the look on his face startled them.

"What's wrong?" Nami dared to ask.

"Their heart was stolen." Zoro said, his words a long line of barely controlled anger, his body tense, ready to explode.

"Those fucking doctors took their heart out. It's gone."

Confusion spread across the crew, trying to understand what Zoro was saying. Surely he was joking. Your heart was not removed from your chest. There was no way.

There was no need to discuss the actions that would be taken wether or not you survived the procedure.

They were going back to that first island and Zoro was going to unleash absolute hell upon the doctors who had lied to him about trying to save your life.

Until then, the anxiety doubled, as more hours were spent hovering outside sterile doors, waiting for news that would either bring some semblance of normalcy to the world or tear it in half.

Finally, after a wait that spanned far too long, the doctors came out, looking shocked.

"Your friend survived the transplant. They're going to be okay." One of the doctors informed the crew. The excitement was palpable.

There was a cascade of cheers as the news was released, grinning faces and happy hearts. You were alive again.

Zor insisted upon waiting at your bedside, a looming, protective figure that barely softened his posture, even when your crew came in to see you.

He stayed by your side, day and night, asking the nurses about when you would wake up.

They said they didn't know. Only that you would.

Eventually.

Zoro spent his time with you by talking, remembering how you had helped bring him back from the brink of death.

Zoro clammed up the second somebody entered the room, but when it was empty he began to talk about anything and everything. Things he saw out your window, thoughts on the weather, complaints about whatever was on his mind. Anything and everything.

He made multiple apologies. For not helping you fight, for not finding this solution quicker, for not giving you a chance to end that bastard's life yourself, for letting those doctors steal your heart and replace it with a finite amount of magic. For everything.

His hand held yours, his fingers gently pressing your pulse point. He could feel the steady thrum of your new heart, weak as it was. It was still there. So were you.

One night, after having fallen asleep, slumped over in a metal hospital chair, his hand let go, and upon awaking, he scrambled to find your pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it.

The torture stayed with him for three days, three whole days of waiting for you to come back, to fight against the odds and to prove how strong you truly were.

It was around lunchtime when you drew in a sharp breath, awakening to a stabbing pain in your lungs. Your eyelids fluttered, and a long, thin breath brought you back as you drowsily came to.

Zoro's heartrate doubled, a beacon of hope lit in his chest that burned brighter than the sun had ever been.

He felt your fingers twitch in his grasp, and your new heartbeat accelerated under his steady hold.

Your face pinched, contorted with pain, but Zoro was still just barely holding back tears. You were truly alive.

He spoke your name, a soft tone being taken on, one that had not been present during his ramblings to your unconscious body.

"Zoro?" Your voice was raspy, but there was nothing for him that could ruin the moment. "I'm here." He said carefully, hand moving to hold yours, squeezing it gently.

You squeezed back instinctively, laughing. "This probably isn't the afterlife then." You coughed and a wince ran through your body, followed by a sharp noise of pain. "Definitely not heaven."

"I'll get a doctor." Zoro said quickly, raising from his seat, rushing to proudly declare that you had bested the odds, and defeated death itself, not once, but twice.

"Zoro?" He hesitated, turning to look at you as you opened your eyes, blinking until he could come somewhat into focus. "Thank you."

Zoro had been accused of being an impulsive man, but he was sure of every thought that passed through his head before he rushed back to your side and kissed you.

His hands carefully caressed your face, the very hands that had bashed your killer's face into the ground and carried your limp body, the lips that had screamed at enemies and pleaded with so many nurses to tell him good news pressed against yours, losing himself in the familiarity of it. He had missed you so desperately.

You were still weak, but he could feel you reciprocating his action. "I love you." He repeated over and over again, eyes glazing over with tears. "I love you, I love you." Like a mantra.

When he slowed down, he saw your eyes drift behind him, where a surprised nurse was blushing at the scene in front of her.

"I'll get the doctors." She mumbled before scampering away, a giggle on her lips.

You were given a hefty painkiller, by doctors who still seemed unable to process that you had survived, but all the more happy for it.

The crew was permitted to see you, and whatever residing pain fighting your medicine was forgotten as Luffy's arms wrapped around you, stretched out long and encasing your body like spaghetti wrapped around a fork. He squeezed you tight as the rest of the group rushed in, drowning in relief and tears.

There was a group hug, which kept you warm and drowned out the fears you had and the weaknesses you felt.

They stayed with you, scattered around your ward, keeping you company, filling you in on the days you missed.

You sat up on your bed, cross legged, Zoro sitting behind you, holding you close against him as the crew talked around you. A game of cards had begun, and the sounds of uproaring laughter filled your ears and warmed your new beating heart.

You noticed the way Zoro held you. His arms were wrapped around you, your one arm crossed over yourself to hold his hand, the other hand taking care of the money you had won from the card game.

Zoro's fingers interlocked with yours, but his thumb strayed towards your wrist. It lay right across your pulse point, blood flowing through your body in rhythmic thumps, your heart doing its job enthusiastically.

His thumb pressed gently on the spot, feeling your pulse, as he did every second he spent at your side. He kept it there, making sure that you were still present. You are. You always will be.

247 notes View Post

4rticbolt

4 months ago

you’ve changed (for the better)

for @where-does-the-heart-lie ‘s fighting game au I love ur designs I love them dearly

2K notes View Post

4rticbolt

5 months ago

Just pick him up and place him somewhere else

Masterlist

11K notes View Post

4rticbolt

1 month ago

what is real

1K notes View Post

4rticbolt

2 months ago

RUN, RABBIT, RUN: Part 2

Wet Cat Activities (and an Impromptu First-Aid Class)

Trafalgar Law x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU

Part 2 of my @infixop gift for @namism!

CW: Zombies, graphic depictions of blood, death and violence. Named side character (not super relevant), descriptions of decomposition and bugs. No use of Y/N or gendered pronouns.

WC: 8151

<-Prev Masterlist Next->

(A/N at the bottom)

Law wakes up at the crack of dawn. The morning light is just coming over the horizon, casting long shadows across the roads from behind endless skyscrapers. He’s quiet when he stirs, barely moving under his blanket before he shoots up. He’s not wearing his hat. In the early morning light, you can see the flattened shape of black hair, usually hidden.

“Good morning.” You say, blinking the dryness away from your eyes.

Law turns and frowns at you. “Did you stay up all night?”

You don’t bother to answer, taking a sip of the cold water you procured from your bag. You’re down to one and a half bottles, so you hold the liquid in your mouth, savouring the way it wets your dry tongue and throat. The plastic bottle crinkles in your grip.

Law’s frown deepens. “I’m not letting your lack of sleep hold us behind today.”

“I don’t intend to let that happen.” You say.

The morning goes by quickly. After eating a little more of your rations, you finally decide to breach the question that’s been nagging at you all night.

“What’s the plan?” You ask, zipping your grey backpack up around your blanket.

Law doesn’t look at you. But after a moment of silent contemplation, he answers. “I think we should still try to cross the river. There’s another bridge if we travel further west.”

You don’t try to smooth the disgusted expression that crawls upon your face. Your hands bunch around the straps of your bag, turning to him and asking: “Are you kidding me, Law? Did you forget what happened last night?”

“I have good reason to suggest this.” Law says, as cryptic as ever.

You can tell he knows something more, and it frustrates you that he doesn’t seem to trust you enough to share. The frustration melts into hot anger, licking at your ears as your mind wanders to Johnny and Yousaku and Michelle. Strangers who took you in despite knowing nothing about your nature. You could’ve been a maniac that gained their trust only to steal resources, yet they still trusted you. Your stomach turns unpleasantly, and you can’t help but let out a few sharp words.

“Just like how you suggested we go to the bridge two days ago?”

“I did not suggest that.” Law retorts. He’s far too calm in the face of your accusation, arms crossed and expression carefully neutral. “I only confirmed that there are resources on the other side.”

Okay. That part is true. You take a breath. It’s unfair to blame what happened last night solely on Law. It was a combination of factors and small decisions—

Letting grief overtake you at a time like this is the worst thing you can do right now.

“Sorry.” You mutter. “But you still haven’t told anyone how you know that. We need to work together from now on— so can you at least tell me why?”

Law stares at you. You meet his eyes. You will not relent. You hope he knows by now.

“I lived on the other side for most of . . . this situation. So I know.” Law says, finally.

Somehow, that sentiment doesn’t surprise you. You blink at him.

“That explains some things, I guess.” You say, pushing your bag to the side. “So, you know another way to get across? Why are you here, anyway?”

Law shrugs. “Somewhat. There are a few things that need to be done before I can say for certain. So let’s get going.”

He stands up, swinging his bag over his shoulders. You follow suit, and the two of you leave the roof quietly.

You don’t push the fact that he only answered your first question.

~~~~

The streets of the city are mostly empty. The offices and residential buildings loom high over you, caging you in like rats in a sewer. Cars still line the roads, some parked by the curb and others haphazardly in the middle of the street. Scorch marks from fires long put out scar over ashen remains. It’s really a pity. Usually, during the springtime your city is an oasis of green. There were flowers on every corner and tall, leafy trees. Now, it’s a barren wasteland stretching out far ahead of you.

Law doesn’t talk much. You’ve been walking for close to two hours now, and he still hasn’t said a single thing. A few zombies had to be slashed here and there, and you can’t help but feel useless. The only weapon you had was that shovel. The steady weight it had in your hands is not forgotten.

At least it’s cloudy today. You think as you look to the sky. Suddenly, a cold breeze blows by. The scent it brings catches on your nose. A slight humidity, the distinct petrichor of precipitation.

Shit, you think. Nature is scary. You know this from living on the streets for the last month. A strong wind can knock over shelter, and the scorching sun depletes water sources far too quickly. Humidity is one you haven’t faced quite yet, but the thought of the wet, sopping clothes sticking to your skin and the ailments that come with being too wet for too long is enough to make you shudder.

And here, all signs point to rain.

You voice your thoughts to Law.

“We can keep going until it starts raining.” He responds.

Yeah, whatever. Mr. Efficiency or something, you think. However, the clouds are congregating at an alarming rate. It takes another block of walking before the blue sky disappears behind a battalion of angry grey. Another two blocks, and the grey turns a deep shade of blue. The cold is setting in fast. Without the sun, the wind is able to thread through your jacket, chilling your fingers. There is a certainty within you that if not for the skyscrapers, the sight you would be seeing is one of the impending rain moving closer and closer, turning the streets beneath it the ink black of wet asphalt.

You turn to Law. “We need to find shelter. Now.”

Almost immediately, a few drops of water hit your head. Then a few more. Then it starts pouring.

The streets around you are filling up with little fat dots, much like a colour by number scene. You let out a muffled sound, hurrying to maneuver your bag over your head as some form of cover. Frantically looking around, you lock in on an old apartment building with an extended canvas over its entrance half a block down. You start gunning for it, running as fast as your legs can carry you.

Law’s footsteps follow your own— interrupted with the pitter-patter of rain hitting your bag. The rain is coming down really hard. You’re sure it’ll have you soaked in seconds if you don’t get out of it now. Glancing back, the sound of a deep chuckle travels through the thrumming of rain. It startles you enough to make you jump and stumble over your own feet. You almost fall.

Law’s laughing. You didn’t know he could do that.

“Shut up!” You turn to him, huffing. “If you haven’t noticed, our misfortunes are shared. And what are you doing? Hurry up!”

You duck under the canvas, Law following close behind.

The rain is really coming down now. All around you, the world is a misty white, broken by little needles of falling rain. You’re still somewhat dry, with the exception of your pants and shoes. The squishy feeling when you move your toes means your socks weren’t able to escape the downpour either. That’s the worst of it. Your clothes will have to dry out with hopes and prayers if the rain does not stop falling.

“I hope the rain passes soon.” You say. It’s already wet and miserable. The only way for it to get worse is for it to last.

The apartment entrance behind the two of you opens with a mechanical click.

Instantly, Law is sliding his sword from its sheath. It’s out and in his hand before he even turns, and you step back, nerves standing on edge.

A short guy with dark hair and dark eyes stands in the doorway. His eyes are wide with alarm. He raises his hands, trying to seem as innocuous as possible. “Do you want to come in? It’s quite . . . wet outside.”

Despite his kind words, you narrow your eyes in suspicion.

“We don’t have anything on us.” Law says.

You eye his backpack, very much full with things, but not edible things.

“That’s— I don’t plan on robbing you.” The guy says again. He pulls the door open wider. The building is dark behind him, full of shadows. Does this man not have any self-preservation skills? You would not be this insistent with the possibility of getting skewered.

“I’m Piper.” He says. “I’ve been living here for a while. There’s no one else here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Law turns to you then, questions in his eyes. You frown, eyes darting back to Piper.

“You can take a look around, if you want.” Piper says.

Even if you look around, if there are others inside it’s over before you even begin. But then you turn, and the white mist of rain still surrounds you. You shiver.

Maybe he’s actually nice. Maybe, just maybe, there is someone kind in the middle of the apocalypse trying to help others. You look at Law again, then nod.

He nods back.

“We’ll take your offer.” Law says.

Piper beams, opening the door even wider. Law enters first, you follow close behind.

The lobby smells musty. There are a few armchairs to the left of the entrance, pushed against walls covered in yellowing, flowery wallpaper. On the right, is a rickety set of stairs, its handrails a freshly painted pristine white. Further down the hallway, long shadows criss-cross the emptiness like knitted yarn. It’s quiet, lingering hands stretching out through old cedar floors, only stopped by the thundering rain outside and the small window at the end of the hall. He shows the two of you to a room upstairs. Two hundred two. The second door after going up the stairs. You lock the doors after Piper lets you be, letting Law carefully inspect the place.

The rain does not stop.

Piper offers to let you stay the night.

Neither of you object.

~~~~

You didn’t sleep much again.

The dawn brought with it more rain. With Law still asleep in the other room, you slowly get up from the spot on the carpet you decided to take, shuffling through to the entrance. You remove the table placed there for extra security, and unlock the door. The hallway is empty. You tip-toe out to the railing, leaning over. The wood creaks and bends, stretching under your weight. It’s mostly dark on the first floor. The shadows seem to shift, making shapes in your eyes. You blink, leaning further down.

“Hi!”

You yelp, jumping back. Piper is beside you, an easy smile on his face. He holds out his hand, helping you up with a grunt.

“What’s your name again? I don’t think I asked.”

You tell him your name after little consideration. He’s probably been lonely, you think, living in such a big building by himself.

“That’s a cool name.” He says. “Have you lived here long?”

The question catches you off guard. “Like here in the city?”

“Yeah.” He says.

So you start talking, About yourself, about your life before all this. About your dreams, aspirations, your life now that the world has ended. Piper is easy to talk to, you find, good at wrangling out more words from you even when you think you’re done. It’s more than you even dream about sharing with Law.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Piper says after you’ve rambled enough that the sun is starting to come up. The rain is still falling, but the soft shade of grey is unmistakable. “Why were you up so early?”

“I’ve been having insomnia.” You admit. Piper hums, moving to stand straight. He stretches, then starts making his way down the hall, slowly. “I think it’s the stress. I don’t sleep well when I’m stressed. Especially with the last three days.” A tired chuckle escapes you.

“Yeah, sounds like it.” He stops by the window, staring out at the falling rain.

The silence stretches. You turn away. The wallpaper is coming to life again, the patterns crawling like folklore creatures around the walls.

“Have you been bitten?”

What an odd thing to ask. You stop leaning against the guardrail, standing up to your full height.

Piper is walking back towards you, each step slow, careful, like the steps of a predator. The dawn light shining through the clouds is just bright enough to light up the hallway through the window. The thrumming rainfall is a constant— but the low dragging of metal against the wood is not.

“I know the signs.” Piper says. His eyes are so wide. The black pupils seem to have shrunken. “Insomnia, twitchiness, hunger. I’ve seen many like that right before they succumb. I take it upon myself to put people like that out of their misery.”

“That’s bullshit.” You say. You’re pretty sure you haven’t been exhibiting any of these signs. And you didn’t even know if the signs were real. You haven’t been bitten. You know that. If you were bitten, you wouldn’t be fighting this hard to keep living. “No one actually knows that stuff.”

“If you are me, then you do.” His voice drops dangerously low. Piper raises his hand. In it, you see the long and disdainful hook of a crowbar.

You need to get Law. You open your mouth to scream but Piper is already rushing at you. The crowbar swings at your head and you have just enough time to tuck it into your arms. The edge hits your elbow, hook thankfully just missing skin, but it sends a shock of pain and unpleasant numbness through the limb. Stumbling back, you shift your weight and grab the curved end of the crowbar as Piper tries to reel it back. He fights you, the weapon rolling forwards and backwards between the two of you in a frenzied game of tug-of-war. He’s winning— just barely. You can feel the cold metal slipping from your hand as you’re forced forward, drawing closer and closer to the landing. An idea suddenly strikes you— and with his next tug you let go. Piper stumbles backwards with the momentum— and the crowbar flies out of the window behind him with a loud crack, leaving a mosaic of shattered glass in its wake.

Instantly, the cold wind from the outside pours in along with the rain. Piper hisses, stepping away from the puddle forming on the floor.

You’re breathing heavily, all senses on high alert.

“Why can’t you make this easy for me?” Piper wails. He moves towards you, fingers twitching.

In response, you drop low, backing yourself against the landing wall, readying for anything he might try.

Click!

Piper spins and you look up. Law comes out from two hundred two, sword lending against his shoulder. He’s in a plain black shirt and his hat is missing. His eyes are narrowed, mouth pulled down in the same frown someone unceremoniously woken up would wear. But then he looks. Really looks. And you see him shift.

“You too!” Piper wails, voice cracking.

Law tenses. He’s taking the sword from his shoulder when Piper charges at him.

The sword clatters against the ground behind Piper, useless. You’re still pressed against the landing wall when Piper shoves Law out the window, the remaining wooden frame shattering from the force. Law grabs Piper’s arm, cursing as the man dangles his upper body out in the rain. Piper sneers. You rush forward, grabbing at Piper’s shoulder, trying to get him off but he swings— his elbow makes hard contact with your cheek.

Your vision blurs with dancing stars and you let go, wobbling towards the landing. The taste of iron fills your mouth with a gush of blood and for a second— you’re stunned.

Piper pushes Law. You see him teetering for a split second.

Then he falls

“Law!” You shout, running forward as he disappears out the second story window. You get two steps in before you remember him, Piper, still there and alive. He’s still staring at you, eyes wide and breathing heavy, when he slowly pulls out a knife from his pocket.

You glance around. The stairs are right beside you, but he might just chase you down. You can run but but—

Then you spot it. Law’s sword. It’s so close. Just behind Piper and if you time this right—

Piper lunges for you and you dive, the knife missing you by a hair. Your hand closes over the sword as you slide to a stop against the far wall, right under the dead ‘EXIT’ sign. The sheath slides off easily, and you throw the cover at Piper, using that distraction to scramble up against the wall. You spit out the blood in your mouth and aim Law’s sword right at Piper.

“Don’t come closer!” The sword feels foreign in your hands but you grip it anyway. Your skin is icy-hot and all you can see is Piper and his knife.

He hesitates for a moment there. His eyes are filled with a frenzy. He wants you dead— and he’s already shown what he can do.

He might’ve just killed Law.

No. You can’t think about that right now. Piper advances, that tiny knife held up, and despite your much larger weapon, you take a step back.

You need to do this. To protect yourself. You can make a cut on his legs and render him unable to follow you. Then you can go and check if Law’s okay.

Piper’s staring at you, expression raw. He doesn’t try to stab you. Not yet.

He’s readying himself. You realize. He’s talking himself up to make the kill just like you. But this is the one truth. You need to get him before he gets you.

The sword goes through his stomach. The squenching, soft feeling under your hands is alien.

You just stabbed him. You just stabbed someone.

The world spins and on instinct, you pull back, knuckles still wrapped tightly around the hilt of Law’s sword. The feeling of the metal coming out is just as bad as it going in. Blood flows down his pelvis and legs, pooling around his feet at a rate you didn’t want to think about. He takes a step towards you and you step back. His eyes are wide, full of fear. You wonder if he sees the same of you.

He opens his mouth, and a garbled sound comes out.

You turn and run.

Law. If you only think about Law you can probably keep your mind long enough to find him and make sure he’s okay and get away.

You burst out from the fire exit at the end of the hall. The rickety black stairs shake under your weight and the force of the wind. Rain pelts your face, hitting your eyes but you ignore it, hopping down the stairs two at a time. It seems like forever, your hand grazing the railing and the other still grasped tightly around the hilt of Law’s sword, until your feet finally touch the pebbled path of the alleyway. You turn left, then left again at the next opening between the buildings. The sound of pebbles crunching underfoot and falling rain accompany your steps and all you can think about is Law.

You pray he’s okay.

The suffocating walls on each side of you break into open streets and you frantically look both ways— relief rushing through you when you see Law standing in the middle of the road, wet coat standing out from the white mist around you. To his right are bushes, a few more deformed than the others. Your footsteps alert him, and he spins to you, a sharp look ready before he realizes it’s you.

“Law.” You call, jogging the few steps to stop before him. “I’m glad you’re okay— are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What about—” He manages to say before you interrupt.

“He’s not an issue anymore. Don’t worry about him.” You look away. The sword in your hand is glistening with the rain. It’s almost clean now, the remaining crimson spread around the metal like sunlight dappled upon leaves. “I lost your sheath though. Sorry.”

Law doesn’t press. He does sigh, however, the rain trailing down his face in little droplets. “That’s fine. Just keep holding her now. We need to find a place to wait out the rain.”

“We . . . can go back inside?” You offer. There isn’t a better option. The rest of the apartment is empty, and who knows about the other places?

Law nods.

The two of you walk back towards the entrance of the apartment building. Ghosts of the path you took the day before haunt your steps, and the vision of Piper leading the two of you into his home flash over reality. Your throat tightens. A chill, more thorough than that of the rain, seeps into your bones.

Law turns to you. His eyes gloss over with concern and he opens his mouth—

“Did you call your sword her?” The words rush out of your mouth in a shaking string. You need something, anything, to bring you away from the body that is surely laying on the second floor hallway.

Law blinks.

“Yes.” He says.

“Is it like the boat thing?” You ask.

Law moves forward again, reaching out to hold the door open for you. You step inside, and the lobby smells exactly the same. Stale. Vaguely like cigarettes. Just like yesterday.

“You can think of it that way.” Law says. The door closes softly behind him. “Her name is Kikoku, by the way.”

“You named your sword.” You say. “Are you one of those people that give names to everything?”

Law scoffs, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat. The tension in your shoulders is finally lifting, leaving behind an exhaustion that grows deep in your limbs. Kikoku is suddenly very heavy in your hand, and you hold her out, urging Law to take her back.

Law reaches up his left hand— and winces.

You frown. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

Law grunts, reaching for Kikoku again, this time with his right hand. You jump out of his reach, carefully setting her against one of the lobby chairs. You turn to Law, crossing your arms. How can you assume Law fell out of the second floor without any consequences?

“Law. What’s wrong with your arm?”

Law stands there, looking very much like a child caught red handed for some infantile crime. He attempts to mirror your stance, raising his own arms until he winces again.

“Law.”

“I may have fractured my left forearm.”

Oh.

“And why didn’t you tell me?”

Law shrugs. “I thought there were more pressing things to deal with.”

Okay, fair. Law doesn’t know he’s dead.

Actually— you should probably go check and make sure that he is dead.

“I’m going to get our stuff from upstairs.” You say.

“But what about—”

“He’s not a problem anymore.” You insist. You hope the look on your face speaks for you. To admit he’s dead to someone else— is to admit you killed someone.

Law’s face remains passive, but he relents. “Take Kikoku with you.”

You nod. You pick Kikoku up as you walk to the stairs. Each step is agonizing. The muscles in your legs scream with every lift, and the landing of the second floor looms ever closer. That growing, anxious hole deepens. Slowly, oh so slowly, your eyes begin to level with the landing. You turn so you can see around the bend, and a sigh of relief leaves you when you spot Piper’s still body through the railing, sagging against the door to unit two hundred two. Kikoku’s sheath also lies across him in the hall, dropped there from the altercation.

You hop up the next two steps, brushing around the railing and his body. Kikoku’s sheath is quickly picked up and tucked under your arm. Opening the door to two hundred two, you spot your bags on the floor. You pull your backpack over your shoulder and Law’s into your free hand. His hat is on the bed, and you grab that too, tucking it under your arm with Kikoku’s sheath.

Piper still doesn’t move when you step around him again. His blood splashes against your shoes. The fabrics around his stomach are soaked with blood. A familiar queasiness settles in your stomach. You hurry to the landing and don't look up as you descend the stairs.

Law is waiting for you around the corner. You hand him his hat. It goes back on his head almost immediately despite the wet status of his hair.

The two of you begin moving down the hall. There is no desire to go upstairs again, not with the cracked window and all that occurred minutes ago. The first floor is not much different from upstairs, both sides lined with rooms labeled by floor and number. You pass them by, one by one, until you stop at one of the slightly ajar doors. Just inside, a purple, metallic glimmer catches your eye. You press forward, pushing the apartment door open.

“Wait—” Law says—

A wave of death hits you. The sweet, rotting smell is strong, and you quickly spot the source. A decomposing body, melting into the carpet beside a purple bat— the source of the metallic reflection. The body is mushy, the skin almost completely gone. Law makes a noise of disgust from beside you as you gag inwardly, lifting the collar of your shirt over your nose.

“I’m just going to get the bat.” You whisper to Law. You’re not quite sure why you lower your voice so. Maybe, you think, you hope to disturb the dead less than they have been. You shuffle slowly on the wooden floor. The clack of your shoes are soft, and you reach the bat in three small steps. Bending down, you pick it up. The metal is cold in your hands, but strong all the same. It’s sturdy, and you turn, ready to leave, when a sound from deeper in the house catches you attention. Glancing towards the little opening at the far end of the living room, you spot the telltale deformed shadow of a zombie.

You look to Law. It’s just one. You’re sure of it. And whatever happened in this apartment, it must be the romantic tragedy of some poet. It’s not a story you will know, and now, you can’t let that thing keep wandering around.

“I’ll get it.” You say. Law’s silence is his agreement.

You adjust the bat in your hands, lifting it in a ready position. You shuffle down the room, around the carpet and couch in the living room, slowly approaching the entryway. You stop right before the entrance.

It’s a kitchen. The big windows look out to the side of the building beside it, letting in faint grey light. Rain splatters across the glass like snail trails, drawing long patterns. It’s a beautiful backdrop for the hideous creature knocking itself against the far counter.

You tighten your hands around the handle.

One zombie is not so scary as you shuffle closer. Its decomposing skin is greyish, and you gag a little into your mouth when you spot the shadows of maggots crawling just below the surface. Flies buzz in an ever constant hum now. And, as much as you wish, you can never get used to the smell of death. It makes your eyes water, blurring your vision. You can’t hesitate anymore.

You lunge for it. Your bat makes contact with its head— bone breaking with a sickening crunch. It goes down without much of a fight. The skin breaks in an explosion of rotting flesh and blood, a wave of maggots crawling over each other in a clear desperation not so different from your own. They spill over the counter, down the wood flooring, and around your shoes.

Your head goes blank. Your arms don’t feel like your own. The motion seems automatic— the only thing you can keep doing— the endless repetition of the head of the bat making contact with that twitching mess of rot below you. Outside, with the adrenaline and sun and howling wind, slaying a zombie never felt as visceral as this.

A soft call of your name freezes you. The bat slips from your fingers and you stumble back. Pain from the sharp edge of the kitchen counter startles you enough to breathe again, a gasp shooting from your throat as you spin, leaning against that same counter, gagging.

“Are you okay?”

You look up at Law, startled.

“That is a hell of a question.” You say. “Are you talking about this,” You gesture behind you. “Or this?” You throw your arms out.

It feels like you’re losing your mind. The incident earlier. This second wave of adrenaline. You can’t breathe, you’re exhausted and the sight of blood has carved itself into your mind. You stumble forward towards him. The world is both upright and sideways, and you drop down into a little ball, wrapping your arms around your head as you lean against the kitchen counter, sobbing. You want to sleep. But you can’t. Not right now. Not when Law is still untreated and you haven’t even found a safe, zombie-free place to spend the night.

You feel a hand wrap around your own, urging you to stand.

“It’s filthy here. There’s another room down the hall that’s empty. Com’on.”

His hand is warm. Comforting. And it’s nice that he doesn’t offer to go upstairs. You force your focus on him. Only him. Somehow, you find the strength to stand. Your legs are shaking, and warm tears slide down your cheeks. The sticky cold of your clothes seeps into your bones. The world is blurred, and your head hurts. From exhaustion or the cold or disgust, you have no idea.

Law pulls you closer then, awkwardly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His body, warm and alive, grounds you. You take a heaving breath, resting your forehead against his chest. The tears are slowing. The little control you feel is back, and you turn around, picking up your bat. The end is almost alive with wriggling maggots and crushed ones.

If you had more food in you, you’re sure you would’ve thrown up by now. But you don’t. You pick up your new bat by the handle, and follow Law out of the kitchen, past the blue couch and matching carpet, where you wipe the remains from the metal. It leaves streaks of mush in its wake. Tomorrow, if you make it until then, you’ll clean your new weapon more thoroughly.

Law waits for you outside. He looks more concerned. That’s another thing you never expected to see from him. There are no words shared even as Law leads you down the hall, to the very last room at the end. You push the door open, and he locks it behind you.

The layout of the apartment is quite similar to the one you were in before. The living room is arranged slightly differently, with smaller armchairs, a coffee table, and a T.V instead of just carpet and a couch. The kitchen, one that probably looks the same as the one earlier, gleams at you from the other side of the room. You look away.

Law needs help right now. Think about Law.

“Do you know first-aid?” You ask him. You didn’t. You were planning on taking a class but then the world exploded.

“Yes.” Law says, hesitating. But then he continues. “I was a surgeon before all this.”

You blink, then send him a shaky grin. There’s an urge in you that needs to be cheeky. You’re pretty sure it’s the trauma. “Oh. That means you can talk me through fixing your arm, right doctor?”

Law scoffs. “You can’t fix a fracture. It needs to heal on its own, and we need to brace it so that the bone sets properly. ”

“Details, details.” You turn then, starting towards the other doorway across the entrance. “We should probably get you out of the wet clothes first.”

You push the flimsy door open to a bedroom. There is a large bed in the middle, covered in maroon sheets, with a wardrobe tucked neatly at its side. At the far side is another door. One you assume goes to the bathroom.

You step across the creaking wood floors and enter.

The bathroom is small, with a tub on the far side and a window above. The light is soft and grey, but it’s enough to see most things. You turn around to Law. He’s followed you in, still quiet, and his arm is still limp at his side.

“Sit down.” You say to him. Law looks around, before deciding to gingerly sit down on the closed toilet lid. He’s only wearing a black shirt and pants. They’re both soaked. You lift his hat by the rim, setting it on the counter beside you. Then, you carefully pull the corner of his sleeve, urging him to take his good arm out. The wet fabric clings to his skin. It jostles his other arm as you try to tug the sleeve off. Law grunts slightly, sound penetrating the silence. You freeze.

“It’s fine.” Law says. “It just hurts a little when you touch it.”

You take a deep breath. Trying to ignore the queasy feeling crawling up your back. “If you say so. But let’s try something else.”

You let go of his sleeve, instead reaching down to the hem. Your hands are gentle, slowly lifting the fabric. The expanse of cold skin grows ever-larger. You urge the shirt over his head, your fingers brushing against his cheekbones. Then you nudge his good arm out. You get ready for the hardest part, the part where you try to get wet, tight clothes off a fractured arm, but then you pause.

His body is covered in tattoos. Swirling black ink loop over sharp muscles. Hearts and circles and patterns you have never seen stretch over his chest and shoulders and arms. The patterns are so pretty. The edges are all slightly blurry, a show of time passed. You can’t help lifting your hand, ghosting just slightly over the bottom of the large heart stretching right over his chest. Your fingers brushes just barely against his skin, following the pattern with your eyes.

“Your tattoos are so pretty.” You say. Law inhales. His abdomen tenses under your fingers.

You rip your hand away in a flight of mild, confused panic.

“Sorry.” You mutter. You glance up then, eyes meeting his. The pair of gold are gazing at you with an inexplicable softness.

You turn away before that look can drown you. Twisting your hands together in front of you, you look anywhere, everywhere that is not Law. “Let’s get your shirt off completely first.”

You stand. You already thought about how you’d do this. Wiggling your fingers into the shirt from the shoulder hole, a little space is created around his arm. His skin is icy under your fingertips, interrupted by a slight, swelling bump. You swallow, trying to keep your hands steady despite the uncomfortable feeling. Slowly, the material nudges downwards, and you reach to pull the sleeve from his hand. It’s like an inchworm, bunching up and extending, until finally, his hand comes out from the sleeve opening.

You unceremoniously discard the garment behind you.

“What do I need to do?” You ask him, resting your hands on your hips. Your heart is pounding. It’s easy to ignore the way injuries gross you out if you’re not looking at it.

Law is still looking at you that way. But he speaks with a steady professionalism that almost knocks you over from the contrast. “Best case scenario, we first get a stabilizer for the forearm. A piece of wood or hard plastic can work. We also need bed sheets and a pair of scissors. If you can find all these, that would be great.”

“It’s like a scavenger hunt.” You say, feeling the edges of your lips tilt up. “Do I get a prize at the end?”

“Depends. If you do well ‘fixing my arm’, you might get something.”

“Really? What is it?”

Law glares at you. There’s no real malice behind the look. “Depends on how you do. Now get moving.”

“Whatever you say, doctor.” You laugh, heading out from the bathroom.

First things first, you take a look in the living room. There's a sewing kit under the coffee table. You rummage through the threads and needles, feeling a sense of victory when your hands close around a pair of red fabric shears.

Now, for the stabilizer. There aren’t many flat hard plastics or wood planks in the average household. You look around, trying to find something that could work as a replacement. Your eyes land on a hardcover textbook shoved under the T.V.

Hm. You think. It's time to improvise. You pick up the textbook. It’s for some advanced math subject you remember crying over in school. You bend the cover back, and rip.

It doesn't budge.

You try again.

Its cover still doesn't come off.

You hold up your newly found shears. The sharp point goes through easily enough, leaving an edge of rough, jutting material. You open the shears, carefully holding it open like a knife, and gently scrape the mess. The extra pieces are slowly falling off, leaving a little pile of dust beneath you. Satisfied with the newer, smoother look of the cover, you tuck it under your arm with the shears.

The next course of action is the bed sheet. You head back to the bedroom, straight to the wardrobe. Pulling open the heavy drawers, you shuffle through them, going from top to bottom. A drawer of shirts, then pants, then miscellaneous towels and sheets. You pull one of each out, eyeing the clothes for Law’s size.

Law is right where you left him. You hand him the towel and shirt, and set the textbook cover on the counter.

“Now what?”

“We need the bedsheet to be triangle shaped.”

“What kind?” You ask, spreading the fabric out on the ground.

“Isosceles.”

You follow Law’s instructions, slicing through the fabric with ease. Patches of the cloth fall away, leaving an isosceles triangle with a large base. You then fold the extra pieces strategically into long strips. While you were busy with the bed sheet, Law slipped on the T-shirt you got for him. It’s just a little small, stretching across his chest. You stare pointedly at the wall behind his head.

Law, thankfully, does not seem to notice your predicament. He holds out his arm for you, and the textbook cover is already tucked under the fracture. “Since my forearm is the problem, we need to stabilize it. First, tie the two strips, one right above my wrist and the other below my elbow. Make sure to tie the knot under the brace.”

You do as he instructs. The bed sheet strip loops around his upper arm twice, then you cross it under the cardboard hardcover and pull.

Law doesn’t scream. But he does inhale sharply, body following with a noticeable jolt. Vertigo hits you, that familiar queasy feeling fogging your mind. You never liked looking at injuries. Your own or anyone else's. That’s why you always played it safe, avoiding situations that may cause you pain and refusing to go into medicine. You regret that a little now. If you had studied medicine like Law had . . . maybe you would feel less grossed out now.

“You’re shaking.”

Law’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You blink, taking a deep breath, and the world stabilizes enough.

“Just . . . give me a minute.”

You take a few grounding breaths. The queasiness subsides enough to think again. Your fingers tremble as you double knot the tie under the stabilizer. Then, you repeat the same process with the other strip of bed sheet just above his wrist. You give both a careful tug— and they hold.

“What’s next?” You look up at Law, hoping he doesn’t notice the uneasy look that is surely all over your face.

“You’re doing great.” Law says. He gestures to the cut bed sheet. “We’ll make the sling next. Turn the point to my arm. Yes, like that. Pull this corner under my arm and behind my neck. Now take the other corner and tie it behind my neck.”

You do as he says. The bed sheet goes under his arm, then over. You press the corner on his shoulder, and lean forwards with the other one. It’s hard to see over him when he’s seated— and you're practically draping yourself onto him in your attempt to tie the knot behind his neck. Your thawing fingers fumble against his warm skin, and from here, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s so close, his face brushing against your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek—

The knot is so hard to tie from this angle.

You back away, the corners of the sling once again free to fall.

“Can you please get down? It’s hard to tie the knot.” You do not acknowledge the pounding of your heart.

Law scoots off the toilet, slowly lowering himself to the floor. The makeshift sling has somewhat fallen off— so you kneel before him, going through the motions he led you through one more time. You try to drape the other corner around him first. You reach out, lean forward— and this time— a little too far. You’re falling before you realize, knocking Law down backwards.

His back hits the tiles first. You land on our arms, hands splayed out on either side of him. The shock travels through your shoulders and knees, aching the bones just slightly. You try to get up, but Law begins moving too and his flailing arm hits the inside of your elbow just so that you fall down again into that mess of tangled limbs and legs. The bottom of Law’s shirt is slowly soaking from your own wet clothes, and you feel yourself shrivel at the feeling of his muscles under your fingers.

This is so embarrassing. You look up at him, lifting your head from his chest and you realize he’s looking at you too.

Your eyes meet. Deep hues melt into pots of gold, and the sight makes you shiver. Your breath catches in your throat. You feel a hand— his hand— rest on your back.

The touch startles you enough to rip you from his gaze.

“Sorry!” You shoot up, scrambling to unstraddle his thigh and get away from him, away from the heat flooding into your ears and the intensity in his eyes.

He gets up too. There’s a look on his face, one that makes you think he wants to say something. But you don’t want to know what it is.

“Let’s try this again.” You blabber, stopping Law before he can even start. One more time, you go through the motions of swaddling his arm. You’re careful not to touch him, not to look at him. This time, you hold on to both corners and awkwardly shuffle behind him, successfully tying the double knot against the nape of his neck. You do not let yourself linger.

“There. Is this good?” You stand up, walking around Law.

Law drops his shoulder. The sling sags, but holds.

“Yes. Thank you.”

You exhale a sigh of relief leaning against the wall beside you as you stare down at him, wondering what to say. The idea strikes you a second later, and you smirk, pulling on the teasing tone from earlier. “So . . . what’s my reward?”

“Bold of you to assume you even got a passing grade.” Law says, moving to his feet. “You knocked your patient over.”

Your neck instantly burns in a rush of heat, boldly different from the one minutes ago.

“Look,” You start to say, but stop when he reaches towards you. His hand comes startlingly close to your cheek. And before you can even register what’s happening—

Law flicks your forehead. Hard.

“Ow!” You jump back, hands coming up to the wound, a retaliating kick quickly landing on his calf. It’s not malicious, with just enough force that he feels it. “What was that for?”

“I’ll tell you everything.” He says.

You stand there, confused. “Huh?”

“I’ll tell you everything.” Law repeats. “About why I know so much about the other side. About why I’m here.”

You stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“There’s a safe place out there.” He says, still as cryptic as ever. “But right now, I want to finish changing so you can too.” He gestures at you and your still wet clothes, cold and drying at the edges.

You, in turn, eye his pants. “I trust you don’t need help for that?”

Law rolls his eyes at you.

The confession doesn’t shock you as much as it might have. Maybe the sleepless nights are finally catching up to you. Either way, you think you’re okay with moving on right now.

“Okay doctor.” You laugh, striding to the door. “Don’t take too long!”

He takes a lot longer than you thought he would— without accounting for the arm. By the time it’s your turn to change, you already have a set of clothes picked out and are also more than half dry. You’ve also reached the conclusion that you trust Law enough to believe whatever he’s going to tell you, and he trusts you enough to finally tell you what’s actually going on.

When the bathroom door closes behind you, you strip yourself of your wet clothes. It’s thrown in a soggy pile with all the other garments. The clothes you choose for yourself fit decently well. They’re comfortable and dry.

Law is on the bed when you come out of the bathroom significantly less wet.

“I found these in the kitchen.” He holds up a stack of canned turkey and crackers.

Your stomach growls.

~~~~

It’s not a gourmet meal, but it sure feels like it after a month of canned soup. You push the crumbs of dinner onto the floor, shaking the bed sheets free from residuals.

It's then that the fatigue of the day truly hits you. Your eyelids are so, so heavy, limbs dropping against the bed and Law seems to notice, for he nudges you towards the pillow, urging you to lay down. But you shake your head. “You still haven’t told me anything.”

“You’re exhausted. Sleep first. I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Your stomach does a loop. A day ago, if he said those words you wouldn’t have believed him. But now . . .

“Okay. You stay. I’ll go to the couch.” Law stops you as you try to slide off.

“Why?” He asks. “This bed is big enough for the both of us.”

You stare at him then. A vague idea of you resting by the door to stop him from leaving haunts you. But you can’t say that. It’s embarrassing. And you don’t think he would just do that anymore. But your mouth moves before you can stop it. Maybe it’s because of the exhaustion of the day, but all the insecurities begin to spill out like water from a broken dam. In a small and broken voice, you confess:

“I don't want you to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” He scoffs immediately, but then softens. He reaches out his pinky, looping it with your limp one resting against your leg. “If it makes you feel better, I promise you. And sleep on the bed.”

“How old are you?” You let out a chuckle, full of a genuine sound you didn’t know you possessed. The anxiety is not completely gone. It’s still there, right under the surface. But you think it’s quelled enough to rest. The euphoria of a soft mattress beneath you is lulling you right to sleep. Your eyes are so heavy. With your stomach full of food and all that’s happened today, it feels like your physical body is ready to give out at any second. You lay down against the pillow, closing your eyes. The weightlessness of sleep cradles you, tipping you along the edge of dreamland.

You don’t remember anything after that.

A/N: I got an offer to take a free first aid class in the middle of writing this fic so i did. It was lowkey really fun and the entire time i was giggling like a madman because I can now write semi accurate medical treatment :D

shout out to my doctor friend as well, she read over law's instructions and was like "yep, a medical professional would say this" so slay your exams girlie <3

The textbook is also a linear algebra textbook (i hated that class so much)

lore for anyone interested: The city geography is based on Albertan prairie city geography where the city is split in half by a river (if you're curious, search up Calgary 💀 or Edmonton 💀 on maps). Most of the time the downtown is on one side and the lower human density residential areas on the other. It's not always split exactly like that, but i just really enjoy the aesthetic. There is another thing I'm working on rn that has the exact same geography because that's how much i like it LOL.

That how i decided on the climate as well, it's just a prairie climate, in the spring and summer we tend to get rain for either twenty minutes or DAYS depending on how the sky is feeling. The weather also changes really fast.

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