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Fuck, fuck, FUCK-
It is a loose roof-tile that makes her lose her balance.
Thunk .
…
…
…
…Fuck.
Silco is going to kill her.
-
It is a walk of shame at best, when Jinx finally manages to stand up.
Her head had, based on the resounding headache currently trying to make her pass back out, collided with the concrete floor with not insignificant force. The swimming vision from that is not helping her walk any more than the raw, vague sort of pain from what… might be a broken ankle. She can walk on it okay, though, so it's probably fine. Just a bad sprain.
Her ribs ache something vaguely familiar of bruised but worse, and Jinx takes a moment to be thankful she is at least wearing something with more fabric than usual. If she hadn't, she's pretty sure half of her would be red in rug-burn from the crash.
Fun.
She does her best to stick to shadows without outright climbing or ducking under anything, unsure if exacerbating the pressure in her head would make her pass out again. She's not very interested in finding out. The hour of day changes little in way of foot traffic in the undercity, but there is fortunately somewhat less people about. It means she does not have to spend quite so long waiting out people to leave without being seen.
She doesn't need anyone spreading word of her wandering about covered in blood and dirt.
Though, maybe that would be a good intimidation tactic?
That's just stupid. Who would be intimidated by baby little Jinx?
"Shut up," Jinx mutters under her breath, too tired to summon more ire at Not-There Claggor.
It takes far too long to get back to The Last Drop. Still, she manages without further losing consciousness or even having to take any breaks to wait out the pain.
Her hand slips when she tries to lift a metal panel, so she takes a moment to wipe the blood away on her shirt. She closes it behind her and takes a deep breath when she is finally on safe ground.
Her eyes close. She leans back, heavily, on the wall behind her. Just a minute.
All she needs is a minute to rest.
Then she can go and get herself cleaned up and organized and then go find Silco.
Just a minute.
-
Sevika opens the door to his office without knocking. Silco looks up from his desk, irritated and a sharp comment on the tip of his tongue before he sees Sevika.
She looks… panicked, almost. Certainly more stressed than he has seen in a long time. Her hand is bloody and she is missing the cloak that usually covers her arm.
He does not even have time to open his mouth, for a comment about her disarray or questioning about her sudden arrival, before she says, "Jinx is hurt."
It takes half of a beat to process.
Silco is around his desk and moving towards the hall the next.
"Where is she?"
"Basement. Sub-level. Found her passed out, from what looks like a pretty wicked head wound."
Icy fear squeezes around his heart before he can repress it. His fists clench at his side as he moves swiftly through the bar.
"How badly?"
Sevika hesitates from behind him. "Not great. I would grab a doctor."
"Is she stable enough to move?"
It is taking far too long to descend down the stairs between each level.
"I don't think so. Not worth guessing with head injuries."
"Retrieve the doctor. He should be at plant C today. Quickly."
Sevika does not especially care about Jinx, Silco knows. It is enough that she seems aware that getting remotely between him and his injured daughter will cause worse than her death. She leaves rapidly to go retrieve Singed without comment.
Silco throws the door open to the basement and feels the breath leave his chest in a rush once he finds Jinx in the dim lighting.
She's laid down over the floor, a cushion from the couch propped under her head, Sevika's cloak pressed against the side of her skull. The edge of it is staining a dark red.
Silco's knees scream with the force that he throws himself on the floor besides her.
"Jinx," he calls, voice not quite as even as he tries to make it. He reaches to wrap not-shaking fingers around Jinx's thin wrist. Swallows when he feels the tackiness of mostly-dried blood, but presses against her pulse point. Strong. Her heart is beating just fine. Silco feels as though his own is going to escape his chest.
When he calls her name again, her brow furrows the tiniest bit. Again, more gently, "Jinx."
Her eyes flutter open slowly.
"You're freezing," Silco says very quietly, after a beat. "What have I said about wearing a coat?"
The fond chiding in his tone seems to rouse her. Her lips quirk up, as endlessly pleased as she always is at him being careful with her well-being, with being able to not listen to him. "'orry," she whispers hoarsely. "Wasn't 'xpecting to be out so late."
"No?" Silco brushes a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. His other hand is very careful as he keeps Sevika's cloak pressed firmly against the apparent head wound. "Did you get distracted?"
Jinx hums, tries to tilt her head before grimacing in pain and stilling before Silco even has the chance to correct her. "Sorry," she says again, distinctly more upset than a moment ago.
"Tell me what happened, Jinx."
Her eyes well with tears. Silco knows it's largely due to the pain she must be in, the disorientation and fear from the head wound, but it makes him ache regardless at the worry she has for his response.
"Slipped," she whispers. "On roof tile. Was loose and I didn't notice. 'M sorry."
His hand compulsively tightens around her wrist, where he has gravitated back to monitoring her pulse. "You're alright," he soothes, uncharacteristically tender. "You didn't do anything wrong. Accidents happen, they're how we learn. Do you know how far you fell?"
Her eyes narrow, brows pulled tight. She looks confused.
"Can you remember?" Silco asks. He feels as though he needs to throw up, rancid bitterness and anxiety churning in his stomach.
She shakes her head, just one tiny movement. It makes her body convulse, a small and restrained movement, but enough to let loose a pained sound.
"You're alright, Jinx, stay with me. Stay awake for me."
"...Why 'o you look weir'?"
"What do you mean, Jinx?"
"Look weir'. Nervous."
"Not at all. You'll be just fine, won't you?"
"' course ," Jinx says, managing to sound affronted at the mere suggestion.
“Then I’m just fine. And Sevika is on her way to grab Singed, so he can fix you up. Head wounds are nasty.”
“I know,” she mutters, and her fingers twitch in the way that they always do when she’s irritated.
“It’s not your fault,” Silco reminds her. “Everyone falls, hits the wrong beat or sets their weight wrong. You’re doing very well learning to travel the lanes. It is simply unfortunate that you hurt yourself in your fall.”
“Was stupid,” his daughter complains weakly. “Should‘ve caught myself, or somethin’. Instea’ I just slammed my head into concrete from a story up ‘n threw up in an alley.”
“Nausea is very common with concussions. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“‘S gross.”
“Indeed, but it is hardly rare to find down here. Do you still feel sick now?”
“No’ really. Just… spinny.”
It is only his knowledge of Sevika’s footsteps that prevent him from aiming a gun at the door when it slams open. Singed follows closely behind.
“Silco,” he greets shortly. He sounds tense. Silco is not surprised. They all know very well who Silco will take it out on if he is not able to help Jinx. “Is she coherent? Do you know how long ago the trauma occurred?”
“Mostly. Jinx, what do you last remember? Did you know the time?"
A low, vague humming sound. She is drifting again. Though, perhaps that was evident enough by the utter lack of response to the arrival of Sevika and Singed (Jinx does not particularly like either of them, so she does seem endlessly intrigued by Singed’s general demeanor and knowledge. Silco supposes that being the inadvertent cause behind the two of them’s disfigurement might cause her some mixed feelings). “Dunno. Wasn’t dark yet, last I know. Don’ think I was actually out that long, though. Woke up and took… a while. T’ get home.”
Silco nods his head in general answer to Singed, who has since kneeled on Jinx’s other side. He inspects her eyes, frowns when they glaze over and lag as they follow movement, has Silco pull back the fabric trying to clot the wound. Silco has to swallow back bile at the sight of the deep gash, the blood dripping heavily down her head, hair, neck.
“It will need stitches,” he says evenly. And then, more quietly, “It is severe, but not life-threatening. I do not expect any permanent effects. How was she injured?”
“She slipped and fell off of a roof. Approximately one story, if- Shh, Jinx, it’s alright- if she remembers correctly.”
“Interesting…” Singed stops inspecting her head and frowns down over his high collar. “I would have expected more damage if… Is she injured elsewhere?”
Silco’s blood turns icy. He looks over his shoulder at Sevika, who is standing guard over the door. She is just a little too composed for it to be anything but pretend. “Nothing I saw,” she says. “But I left to grab you as soon as I had put pressure against that and couldn’t get her to wake up.”
Singed is already considering the rest of Jinx’s body, and Silco is tense with both that and the state of his child. His hands poke and prod at various areas, checking for broken arms, sprained wrists. Jinx lets out a weak, high-pitched in a way only children can manage, pained sound when he presses against her ribs. Again when her ankle is jostled, and Singed declares it likely fractured from stress. Broken or bruised ribs, though difficult to tell with her out of it and unable to communicate. Mild friction burns on hands and stomach, but nothing severe.
He sends Singed away with a brief but genuine thanks. He has Sevika help keep Jinx’s head still when he lifts her, carries her up to her room. She will be in pain regardless, but it cannot be more comfortable on cold stone flooring than her own bed. Silco sends her away too, and she does after only the slightest hesitation.
Silco, for his part, cannot do much to provide help. He wakes her every once in a while, checks coherency and recognition, lets the acidic pit of worry in his stomach fester until she starts responding without pause, until words are slurred with sleep more than confusion. He gets her to drink water, to lay still despite her desire to keep tossing and turning. Lays bags of ice against her sides, unties her shoes and sets them aside.
He thinks.
Thinks about a child he took in out of recognition fear pain spite anger bitterness and most importantly they deserve better. Children of the undercity. Children of Zaun. Thinks about Jinx who is an amalgamation of every beautiful thing that the undercity has built and stolen and created for themselves. He wasn’t sure what to do with her at first. That had lasted all of two weeks before he got irreparably attached.
Now, he is playing terrified nursemaid to a concussed and broken daughter. Still trying in vain to get his heart rate to settle. He had had no hope to ignore this, to be able to continue. Even if he had wanted to leave her side, there is no way it would work. He would be unable to think about anything but Jinx: if she were healed, awake yet, if she was upset he had left, if she remembered speaking to him at all. It is thankful, then, that there is nothing Silco desires other than to remain by her side.
His hand is still wrapped gently around her wrist, against pulse-point. At some point, mostly-asleep, Jinx tiredly wraps small fingers around his own wrist. Silco’s breath stutters in his chest.She is alright, he tells himself. Reminds.
She’s alright.